


Shotgun

by Stindows



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (Cartoon 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Betelgeuse is an asshole, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lydia is a brat, Stockholm Syndrome, Underage Drinking, Updates added weekly, tags to be added as I update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stindows/pseuds/Stindows
Summary: Despite the Deetz’ and the Maitlands’ desperate efforts to forget about the ghost with the most after the incident, there was one fact that none of them could ignore.Betelgeuse was always going to come back and claim what was his eventually; it was just a matter ofhowandwhen.Post-movieverse with cartoon elements and occasional musical references. WIP.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 62
Kudos: 77





	1. Lots of love, your soon-to-be son in law

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never actually written for this fandom before and this is my first shot at a full fanfic ever! I write a little between shifts at work but it’s usually exclusively non fiction so this is a bold step for me. I hope it comes across well

Things had changed in the Deetz household. 

Where there had originally been a divide in understanding and respect between her parents and the ghosts haunting the building, there was now a rather unprecedented friendship. Barbara's knack for DIY decor and Delia's artistic streak had encouraged an unlikely friendship. Her father's interest in selling property and Adams interest in building it had also done something similar. 

Overall, everyone had learned to coexist which left Lydia feeling less lonely than she ever had before. The house was nearly always alive with life which was ironic considering this new liveliness had spawned from death. 

Unfortunately, the homely, untroubled atmosphere simply couldn't be maintained every day. And, after returning from a particularly grueling day of school, Lydia had discovered that that day was one of those days.

It was the one year anniversary since the fateful night where Lydia had almost lost the Maitlands and the Maitlands had almost lost Lydia. Though nobody brought it up, it was clear they could all remember. Her father was a little tipsier than usual, her mother was a little quieter than usual and the Maitlands were more loving than usual (if that was even possible). It was almost as if the two ghosts feared that the very memory of the events would trigger her suicidal streak and she'd off herself if they didn't smother her in affection.

She was grateful, of course, but more than anything she wanted to be _alone_. Not _truly_ alone as she had been a year previous but just left in peace for at least a few hours. Her fathers disconnected tipsiness and Delia's anxious energy had left her feeling more exhausted than she usually would've after a day at school. She'd finally escaped the awkward, heavy dinner and retreated to her room, unpacking her schoolbag and settling in to finish a set of notes due the next day.

Ever the procrastinator, this rare attempt to _actually_ do schoolwork had turned into the girl doodling all manner of things over her page; most notably a slobbering sandworm winding in and out of the margins of the paper. Despite the less-than-comfortable memories associated with the beast, she was still undeniably intrigued with the world of the dead and the creatures it held. Were there more beasts like the sandworms? Creatures that only existed in fairtytales? (or horror stories, rather). She'd tried to pester the Maitlands about their limited experience with the Neitherworld but she'd been swiftly shut down; naturally, their insistence on hiding the world of the dead from her only served to make the forbidden realm that much more enticing.

Despite the Neitherworld itself being a gray area in her knowledge of the dead, Lydia was still rather aware when it came to how ghosts themselves worked. This was part of the reason she perked up slightly when the temperature of her room experienced a sudden drop. Where anyone else would disregard it as a side effect of living in an old, drafty house she couldn't help but tense up; recognising one of the telltale signs of a ghostly presence. 

Her common sense was telling her this was to be expected whilst living with the dead yet her instincts were screaming that something felt off and she should arm herself.

Always one to ignore her doubts when they came (as those with anxiety usually did), the girl turned around, a smile on her face as she expected to see either of the Maitlands slowly opening her door to check in on her or bid her goodnight. 

Unfortunately, that wasn't what was happening. Not in the slightest. 

The last thing she'd expected to see when she'd turned around was very man she'd been trying to push from her mind all day materialising stripe-by-stripe by like a twisted Cheshire Cat.  
A blur of stripes was all she saw as the ghoul instantly surged forwards with supernatural speed, not even allowing her time to scream before he pulled her from her desk chair. 

An unnatural number of hands snaked around her body, one clamping over mouth and another four or five holding her arms to her side. The girl struggled best she could, ever the fighter as she made a mess of her room in her attempts to escape his clutches, but the dead mans grip was impossibly strong...

Just as the hope that maybe the Maitlands would hear her struggle and come rushing to her aid started to build up in her mind, the room began to spin, everything went dark and the pair of them were gone. 

***

"I don't know, Barbara, she's seemed off all day," Adam sighed, slumping down on the couch and sending a small cloud of dust out from under him. Barbara rolled her eyes, placing down the pot she was in the process of painting, and approached her brooding husband. "Of course she's seemed off. What happened to her was _traumatic_ ," the woman said with a sad smile, lowering herself beside Adam and resting a cool palm over his forearm in a soothing manner. "I know you want to help her but there's not much else you can do. It's best to let her be alone so she can _think_. She'll be right as rain tomorrow."

Adam shook his head slowly, giving his wife an appreciative sideways look. "I know, honey. I just... can't help but think that today may have gone better if her parents were just a little more apt at dealing with trauma."

The dead woman laughed, a sound that never failed to lift Adams spirits, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Delia's a borderline pill addict and Charles is a nervous wreck. They're all as bad as eachother. Lydia survived when they were all she had so I'm certain she'll be fine now that _we're_ here," the woman assured him, her eyes closing slowly as he rested a hand atop her head. "Yeah, you're right..." Adam nodded, appreciating her uncanny ability to set his head straight. "I think Charles is having an effect on me. I was never this anxious when I was al-"

Adam was cut off mid-sentence by a loud clatter originating from the floor beneath them followed by what sounded like a muffled yell. The pair of them instantly perked up, pulled violently from their sleepy, parental exchange. They made brief eye contact, the exact same fearful thought running through both of their minds, before jumping to their feet and making a dash for the attic stairs. 

They were on the second floor within seconds and both reached Lydia's room at the same time, ignoring the respectful act of knocking and instead phasing straight through the wood. Barbara had hoped that they'd both overreacted due to them simply being on edge and would burst in to find that Lydia had merely knocked over her pot of stationary or just tripped over but it became clear to the both of them that this was not the case.

There were signs of a struggle yet no sign of their beloved living daughter. She was gone. With both the window and the door closed, the only possible explanation was the intervention of another dead being... and there was only one dead being the Maitlands knew of who would want anything from their Lydia. 

Adam slumped against the wall, a deep-seated feeling of sickness and dread swarming his stomach as he took in her empty room. Barbara ventured further in, stepping over pencils and paper as she approached the girls desk. There were the usual things such as various pieces of schoolwork spread out but the item that had caught her attention was a yellowed piece of paper placed in the center just begging to be picked up.

"Do you think... _he_..." Adam started, pausing as he watched Barbara pick up the card and skim over the short message written there. Her face fell as she read it. The suspension was almost enough to kill Adam for a second time. "Is it _him_?"

 ** _Suck my dick, deadbeats. It'll take more than a fucking sandworm to stop me._  
** **_Lots of love,  
your soon-to-be son in law._**

"Yeah," Barbara breathed, her entire body going numb from shock and fear. "Yeah, it's him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short intro; coming chapters will be longer :D. I’ve written up to chapter three so far and will probably update once or twice a week depending on how fast I write.


	2. for the sake of tradition

For a split moment Lydia had thought she'd died. A part of her wondered if maybe she'd had some sort of sudden heart attack; she theorised that maybe the flash of stripes and sensation of dozens of hands on her was just a cruel trick her brain was playing during its final moments of consciousness. She soon realized that she wasn't dead - though death was probably a more merciful fate.

For about ten seconds it was like somebody had flicked the off switch. Everything was black and the roaring sound of static was all that filled her ears. Soon enough, however, her vision returned as well as her other senses. As soon as she had control of her limbs, the girl wrenched herself from the cold grip of her abductor and stumbled to the floor due to the momentum she'd put behind her escape. The blunt force of her fall and the cold, hard ground against her skin was the thing that finally snapped her out of blind panic. If she had any chance of surviving whatever the fuck was happening, she needed to breathe and get an idea of her surroundings.

Her muscles tensed the second she looked up to see _him_ standing there in all of his mossy, striped glory. Any extra limbs he might've had before had disappeared and his remaining two hands were settled lazily in the pockets of his slacks, indicating that he was in no rush to chase after her and get a control of her again. This was more scary than if he'd been rushing after her. If he was confident enough to let her be free from his grip then that meant she was somewhere she wouldn't be able to escape.

"What do you want?" was the first thing Lydia managed to say through her heavy breathing. She cursed her voice for shaking as much as it did. Betelgeuse simply laughed in response - a hoarse, cackling baritone that made the hairs on her neck stand on end - and released one of his hands from his pockets to juice up a cigarette. "Ya really gotta ask? What, ya didn't think that I wasn't gonna come back eventually?" he finally said after taking a drag from his smoke. The ghoul took a step forwards and Lydia shuffled back several feet, still not quite brave enough to get to her feet. "Come on, Deetz, I know yer smarter than that."

"But- I- I thought- the sandworm-"

He cut her off with another bark of laughter; though this time it was humorless and harsh. Lydia had seemingly hit a nerve. He took another couple steps forwards and Lydia began to shuffle away again but her back hit a wall and she realized she was cornered. The ghost dropped to one knee before her, ashing his cigarette before speaking again. "I'm already dead, kid. The sandworm was just a shitty inconvenience. Didn't even hurt- just tickled, really... and royally _pissed me off_ ," he growled, watching as she flinched away from his face 

He'd been released from the waiting room with a mere warning only a day previous. Time dragged in the Neitherworld and the period he'd spent sat on that fucking couch was punishment enough, apparently. Originally, the ghoul was planning on easing himself back into Lydia's life and perhaps taking a softer approach to ensure she'd say yes to the deal but when he realized it was the anniversary of their failed wedding he couldn't help but swoop in then and there. He always had been one for timed theatrics.

Now he had the girl before him all trembling and scared he realized that he probably wouldn't have been able to ease himself back into her life even if he'd tried. He never was very good at restraining himself and he was relearning exactly why in that moment. It was like the first time he'd seen her in that attic; he thought she was a damn catch then but... scared, vulnerable Lydia? Now that was a whole different story. 

He was snapped from his thoughts when the girl finally spoke up, her light voice wavering as her words tried to slip through trembling lips. "Where are we?"

While he'd been busy looking her up and down, Lydia had done a quick emergency-scan of her surroundings. 

The further corners of the room were far too dark to make out any specific details but she _could_ see a few windows with thick, heavy curtains over them, a couple of ratty doors, a moth-eaten corduroy couch and a coffee table littered with candles, beer and old newspapers. It was about what she'd expected the house of someone like Betelgeuse to look like. Though, she found herself wondering why exactly he'd brought her there. If his goal was to marry her then surely their first stop would be somewhere that hosted weddings?

' _Unless he has other intentions in mind_...' Lydia thought. The idea made her chest seize up; his close proximity not helping soothe the sudden fear that maybe this was his attempt to beat her down into a state where she wouldn't be able to fight off his attempts to marry her like the first time. Thankfully he finally backed up, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt.

"My crypt," he replied shortly, gesturing to the bare concrete walls and dingy furnishings. "Figured we could make a pit stop so ya could calm down before we go get hitched. Finally. Can't have ya freakin' out and tryna send me away again now, can we?" He chuckled, watching as she finally pushed herself up onto shaky legs, suddenly aware of just how chilly the 'crypt' really was. 

His flippant manner had soothed her slightly; she was still scared out of her mind but now that she realized he wasn't out to hurt her (not physically, atleast) there was room for anger to find its way in. "And what if I don't want to? Barbara stopped the ceremony fair and square. You- you lost your chance," Lydia said, her voice still quivering a little but now with some level of venom behind it. 

Unfortunately, her sudden streak of confidence only served to amuse the ghoul and she wondered if she'd made a mistake as he narrowed his dark eyes. To Betel, her little fiery flare returning was a relief; whilst he loved seeing that he still had an effect on people, Lydia's absolute lack of fear was what had originally enticed him. Still, he absolutely couldn't have her telling him how things were.

"Don't even start thinkin' that ya have any choice in this, babes," he hissed, fixing her with a glare strong enough to make her knees nearly buckle out. Thankfully, he stayed put; leaning against the moth-eaten couch as he sucked away at a seemingly endless smoke. "We made a deal and 's far as I'm concerned, it's only over once ya hold up on it. Whether I gotta drag ya kickin' and screamin' or not is up to you."

The scary thing was, _he absolutely would_. She could see it; her tied up in some cruel way as he forced her down the aisle - her lips sealed and _her_ voice on _his_ tongue... just like before. Only this time she truly would have no way out. She had to play his game. At least for a little while. Perhaps she could ask the Maitland's to try contact Juno once the ceremony was over with, assuming he'd take her home. He'd have to, right? Lugging some mortal kid after him everywhere was hardly _freedom_. 

Lydia saw this as a glimmer of hope and straightened up, raising her chin and steadying her breathing. If she wanted to get this done and dusted fast, she had to be cooperative. 

"Fine. I'd..." she paused as he throat closed up, swallowing hard to calm her nerves before trying again, "I'd rather not be dragged around so I'll go with you willingly..."

His lips stretched over his grimy teeth into the form of a triumphant grin and he went to say something - likely a smug exclamation of victory - but Lydia cut him off before he could comment further, catching him off guard. 

"...on the condition you take me straight home after. The Maitlands probably heard the struggle and are wondering where I am. They need to know I'm safe. _And I want to go home_."

 _Shit_. 

Of course she'd have to throw a fucking wrench into the system. Mortals could never just say yes and get on with it, could they? The ghost groaned, running a mossy hand down his face before fixing her with a look that held the tiniest trace of guilt. 

"Babes... it ain't that simple." 

"...what?" 

He almost felt bad as he watched her pretty little face drop, her eyes widening as a million possibilities ran through an anxious mind.

"Ya really think I can just get hitched and let you run off like nothin' ever happened? There are rules n' shit in place to make sure the dead don't just get spliced to the livin' for the sake of it. If there weren't consequences, every stiff out there would be bindin' themselves to the first breather they could get their hands on." 

_Consequences? Rules_? They were words that she wanted to hear nothing of at that moment but it seemed she'd roped herself into a deal riddled with them, judging by the way the ghosts cocky, concupiscent attitude had dropped and been replaced by frustration.

She gained no comfort from his change in attitude, however. He'd still ripped her unexpectedly from her home without the chance to even say bye to the ones she loved and now he was insinuating she might not be able to return? Tears started to build up in the corners of her eyes and she fought them off, clenching her jaw and forcing herself to make eye contact with the ghost.

"Well, what are these _consequences_ , then?" She asked, keeping the question short so he couldn't hear the wavering in her voice despite the fact there was so much she wanted to say to him. No matter how much she tried, there was no hiding the tremble in her throat and Betelgeuse grimaced.

He'd just wanted to spook her. Not make her fucking _cry_. He took a steady step forwards and Lydia merely flinched, watching him cautiously like a doe from a distance. "Like I said, in order t' get freedom I gotta bind myself to a livin' kid. Establish an anchor, if ya like," he started, choosing his words carefully so as not to confuse her too much. He wanted this process to be as painless for him as possible. Part of achieving that was making sure he didn't have to repeat himself too often. 

"Th' powers that be decided it couldn't be that easy, though, and threw in a couple o' extra rules there to make sure marriage's were a lil' more legitimate," he continued, steadily getting closer as if approaching an injured animal. "The thing with me bindin' myself to you is that we gotta be on the same plane of existence pretty much at all times. If were on different planes for any more than a couple o' hours it'll tear up ya soul and all that shit. Not a fun experience, I'm tellin' ya. Just... just picture what the Maitlands went through but with more writhin' and pain," he chuckled, guiltily watching the way her eyes widened as what he was saying hit her fully. 

"That means ya either gotta stay with me or stay somewhere else in the neitherworld. Although, I doubt you'll wanna go wand'rin' around the land of the dead on yer own. It's not exactly the most breather-friendly place"

Her breathing sped up and she began to sink to the floor before Betel reached her, grabbing her just in time by the hips and holding her up steady. She flinched away from him, her teary eyes finally spilling over and letting a couple stray salty droplets sink down over her pale cheeks. "Hey, _hey_ , Cmon kid. Calm the fuck down," he groaned as she began to struggle under him, tightening his grip and causing her to still.

She wasn't scared so much as overwhelmed, the weight of what he was saying taking its sweet time sinking in. By the time she truly understood what he was insinuating he'd already reached her, holding her middle with oversized, clawed hands. She couldn't help but struggle and his hurried words did nothing to ease her will go escape. The tightening of his fingers did, however, and she stopped her movement, blinking up at his fuzzy figure as she cursed the moisture in her eyes. 

"I hate you," she spat tearfully, turning her head away to try out a little distance between them. From the proximity she could make out every detail of his face, down to the gunmetal blue of his irises which were only made sharper thanks to the deep pits around them. "You never told me this before. If I'd have known I would never have said yes," she hissed, causing his brows to knit and eyes to narrow. 

"Which is _exactly_ why I never told ya, babe. I'm a selfish prick who needed somethin' and I'm not lettin' somethin' like some random kids' feelings get in the way," the ghost hissed, uttering the half-truth as he desperately tried to ignore how warm she was now he was so close. For fucks sake, why did she have to be so... _her._ If she was any other breather with an ugly mug he would've whipped them straight to a wedding and married her without a second thought by now. Of course she had to go and make him feel _guilty_ with her stupidly bright, wide little eyes and pleas to see her family. 

She dropped her shoulders, hanging her head and letting her hair fall down over her face to shield the way a couple more teardrops worked their way over her smooth skin. Betelgeuse silently scowled as she slid too-easily into a tiny pit of self pity and lifted one of his hands off of her hip. He raised it, placing the ringed fingers under her chin and pushing her head up so he could meet her eyes again. She didn't protest, only wincing slightly as the cool metal of his jewellery bit at her skin, but he was otherwise gentle.

"It don't gotta be the end of the world though," he said in a low voice - one which she assumed was meant to be comforting but was instead deep enough that she swore her bones would start rattling if he was any closer to her ear. "If yer a good girl I'll take ya back to Winter River ta see ya parents right away, how about that?" 

_If you're a good girl_. It was awfully patronising but it was all she had. And plus, it wasn't like she had much of any choice? As he'd said, it was between behaving and getting dragged by her hair down the aisle. She just nodded slowly, her movement a little limited thanks to the large hand still keeping her head propped up like she was a bag of bones that would go limp without him there to keep her erect. 

" _I get it,”_ she said in a small voice, maintaining eye contact even after he dropped his supporting hand and clicked his fingers, juicing up a pre-lit cigarette. "I already said I'd do this willingly and... I still stand by that. Just _please_ take me home afterwards, even if it is for a little bit."

The ghost seemed satisfied with that, sniffing as he took a drag, and released a cloud of smoke off to the side. Any other day he would've felt mean enough to blow it right into the girls face but her tearful response had put a dampener on his mood and now he was just eager to get the ceremony done and dusted.

"Smoke?" He grunted, holding the cigarette up to her as a sort of peace donation and shrugged when she shook her head quickly. He wouldn't have offered if he hadn't already seen her sneaking into the attic during the period in which the Maitlands were still searching for Juno's help. She'd stand there late at night with a stolen cigar taken straight from her fathers office, leaning out the window and watching the sun rise. Of course, he'd never tell her just how long he'd been watching her for. Not yet, atleast. 

He finally let up, deciding it was _time_ before taking a couple steps back, and snapped his clawed digits again. Lydia watched with suppressed interest as his signature stripes melted away into that awful red three-piece that he'd worn a year to the day. The sight of the dusty, dated thing sent a whole swarm of butterfly-inducing memories flooding right back in and she could only hope he didn't choose to place her back in the same dress. She'd burnt the thing as quickly as possible. 

Once he was finished dressing himself up for the sake of tradition, he extended a arm and let a grin slid back onto his previously grin face. 

"In that case, how 'bouts we get this shit over with, babe?"

She sighed, wiping the remnants of her tears away onto her sleeve and cautiously placing a warm little hand on the velvety fabric. "I'm ready, I guess".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism, kudos or just your general thoughts are very much appreciated!! :D


	3. the very same

Lydia had lied. She wasn't at all ready for the experience that teleportation would prove to be. Betelgeuse just made it look so easy - flitting in and out everywhere and landing on firm, confident feet. Though, she supposed he didn't have all the bodily fluids in him that caused one to get dizzy. It took her a solid few seconds to shake away the otherworldly after-sensation that travel between the planes left but, once she did, she immediately noticed the lack of fabric covering her arms, shoulders and chest.

Her original plain black clothing had been sneakily transformed into a tulle-and-lace dress of similar color to the previous wedding getup except this time it was less excessive in size and far more form fitting. It seemed she wouldn't get away with staying in her own clothing after all, however atleast it wasn't the monstrosity from before. If she were anyone else, she might stop to admire the intricate patterning of the lace and complimentary shape but she _wasn't_ anyone else and the sheer amount of skin on display caused her stomach to swirl with irritation.

"You _asshole_ ," she hissed, slapping Betelgeuse’s arm before trying fruitlessly to tug the low neckline up a little in a desperate attempt at retaining some modesty around the sordid ghost. He just chuckled under his breath before wolf-whistling in an exaggerated manner, shrugging off her piercing gaze. " _Whoops_. Musta got the sizin' a little wrong. My mistake." 

He was in a considerably better mood already, the jump from the dingy crypt to a more civilised area picking his spirits back up. Lydia let out a long puff of air, shaking her head as she realized she was fighting a losing battle with him. He could've done worse, after all. He _had_ done worse.

Lydia turned her attention from him to her surroundings and slowly frowned, not quite sure what to make of the strange, angular corridor they'd appeared in which was bathed in supernatural blue light originating seemingly from nowhere. On any other day, she would've jumped at the chance to grab her camera and snap away. It was the perfect area of study - especially considering her strange and morbid tastes - yet somehow it felt _too_ eerie.

"Where are we..? This looks like some sort of... fucked up funhouse," she breathed. 

"We're in one of the many Neitherworldian legal buildings. The waitin' room is a few doors down behind us n' there's a registry office a few doors up. It'll be a quick in n' out job. The faster we are, the better. Somethin' tells me Juno's gonna kick up a damn storm when she finds out I'm doin' all this again. Especially so soon after my release."

Lydia grimaced, staring up at the poltergeist who was buzzing with poorly repressed excited energy at the promise of upcoming freedom. She felt awfully guilty about the fact that _she_ was the reason the monster was going to end up a free man. He'd hurt her family enough whilst still under lock and key - she could only imagine who he'd hurt next now he had complete freedom. 

It seemed the ghoul could read her doubt and he waved the concerned expression off of her face dismissively, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with her. He cursed himself for putting her that stupid fucking dress. He'd done it to piss her off originally but now it seemed he was just torturing himself. She was... something else. 

"Don't look so worried, babe, it's all bureaucratic bullshit. They hate me 'cause I'm good at findin' loopholes to their stupid fuckin' rules and messing with their systems." Of course, he'd done a hell of a lot more than just fuck around with rules in his time but Lydia certainly didn't need to know about the blood he had on his hands. He wasn't exactly lying when he said they hated him because he was just a pain in the ass, though. It was a half truth and that counted for something, right?

"All that aside, how 'bout we hurry up and get this done, hm?" he said, swiftly changing up the tune as he offered her his arm again. Lydia grimaced at it before choosing to pointedly ignore him, instead just beginning to walk ahead. He certainly didn't seem offended (which she was relieved about since she _had_ promised to be on her best behaviour) and instead just chuckled, half-jogging to catch up before falling into an easy stroll beside her.

The place was truly a wonder, now she could properly get a look around. Every door was slightly different yet the whole corridor had a sense of endless repetition and infinite length. It was almost enough to make her forget who she was with.

She glanced at the various signs - the one labelled 'the lost souls room' catching her attention for the longest. She had memories of the Maitlands telling her all about it one night, a few days after their return from conversing with Juno. The realisation that they'd almost ended up there was enough to nearly set her tears off again. Beyond that, the thought of the Maitlands in general sent a dull pang through her. God, they were probably so worried about her. She was certain they would've heard the commotion she'd caused. The only comfort was the knowledge she'd be seeing them soon enough assuming Betelgeuse was a man of his word.

"Looks like we're here babes," he announced in a chirpy tone, pulling her roughly out of her thoughts as he stopped and nodded towards a door on their left. He reached out a grimy hand and pushed it open, the wood moving with a low creak as he stepped over the threshold into a dingy, dark hall area. 

Lydia immediately noted that several other souls were lounging around in corners but for the most part it was dead silent. Lydia tried her best not to stare at all of the deceased folks, instead forcing her eyes to scan over the rotting beams and dark-wood walls. The room was surprisingly large and there were a number of chairs scattered randomly around as if just to fill the hollow, depressing space. A few desks lined the edges with small creatures resembling the alien preacher she'd met only briefly sat behind them, their bulbous heads lowered over thick stacks of paperwork. A small lectern stood at the far end of the hall, seemingly where Betelgeuse was heading towards with purposeful strides.

"Long time no see, amigo," he grinned, dusty maroon-clad arms held outwards in friendly expression. She followed his line of sight and only then realized yet another one of the little alien preachers was stood behind the lectern, its eyes barely peeking over the top. She made the silent assumption that this was the same being who'd attended the impromptu failure of a wedding the first time. 

"You've come to me this time, I see," it said in a small, hoarse voice. The aliens huge, empty eyes slowly slid over to Lydia and she felt a chill run right down her spine. "With the same girl, too."

"Indeed, I have. 'N we're gonna make this short n' snappy, got it? I mean it; shortest possible vows if ya don't mind. None o' that lovey-dovey bullshit."

The preacher remained silent for a second before shaking its oversized skull. "Juno will have you for this, Betel." 

Betelgeuse just chuckled in response, wringing his hands in anticipation whilst the alien fetched some papers from seemingly out of nowhere. "If all goes well, the old bat won't be able ta touch me. C'mon, _get a move on_."

Lydia leaned in whilst the alien was still fumbling with paper and whispered, "What about witnesses? You needed them last time, right?"

She frowned when his face took on a sheepish expression. "Er, not really. I actually just did it fer show, babes, I'm gonna be honest. Thought it'd be funny to make yer parents watch ya get whisked away by me."

"But instead they watched you get whisked away by a sandworm?" She replied in a dry tone, watching as his brows knitted.

"Yeah, yeah, shut th' fuck up. I'm back now, n' tha's all that matters. Infact, it just proves my strength, ya catch my drift? Not many ghosts can survive a damn sandworm, babe. Like I said; ghost with the most."

She supposed that was a good point, though it was a little funny to watch him squirm at the mention of the great beast. If she wasn't so deeply pissed off she might've managed a laugh. Lydia was thankfully distracted from admiring his discomfort when the preacher finally returned, papers clutched in it's wrinkly, inhuman hands. "Ok. Are we ready to begin?"

"I was ready last year, buddy."

It let out a strange, harsh sound which Lydia could only assume was a sigh, before clearing it's throat and starting the vows. 

"Do you, Betel, take this..." it paused, glancing down at its paper before looking back up. "... Lydia Deetz to be your lawfully wedded wife. To honor and to-"

"-You betcha. Get on with it."

Another wheezy, exasperated sigh.

"And do you, Lydia Deetz, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband."

 _This was actually happening_. It'd all felt like a bad dream before and even then, the events of the day had flown by and Lydia was still waiting to wake up. But it seemed she wasn't going to... this was real. She was getting married and there was no way she could say no if she wanted to get out with her head still on her shoulders. She only had one option.

"I do." 

It was a painfully reluctant answer but it was still enough to send Betelgeuse almost leaping for joy, his teeth bared in the form of a wide, triumphant grin. 

"Then by the authority vested in me... the ring?"

The ghosts face dropped and somehow paled a shade more than it already was and he started to pat himself down and fumble in his pockets. "Rat shit," he groaned, moving onto the inside compartments of his jacket.

"Again?" Lydia asked with the faintest hint of a smile, watching as he shot her a dirty look.

"Shut up. This was kinda unplanned if ya can't fuckin' tell." 

He eventually found the golden band - thankfully not attached to a severed finger this time - and held it up triumphantly. He grabbed Lydia's warm, soft little hand hastily which earned him a scowl that he chose to ignore, instead sliding the ring onto his breather-wife's slim finger. It was far too large initially but, to her surprise, it shrunk down to fit her comfortably.

"Excellent. Without further ado, I now pronounce you-"

Betelgeuse held his breath, waiting for something to go wrong. 

It never did.

"-man and wife."

He was expecting a much more dramatic reaction but admittedly the physical change he experienced was minute. Something he would've usually ignored or not even noticed had he not been focusing so hard. It was like a pressure in his ears had popped after being blocked for an extended amount of time. His vision seemed sharper and he could've sworn his sense of smell was a little stronger. 

Regardless of how weak and insignificant the immediate effects of the marriage seemed, he could still tell _something_ had changed and that knowledge was beyond intoxicating. In fact, he almost juiced them right out of there in the moment but only paused when the preacher spoke up.

"Now, if you could both sign here," the preacher said in it's low, monotone voice, turning the papers around and holding them out. Ah, of course. Paperwork. The part Betel hadn't quite gotten to last time around. He glanced at the destination address in the corner - just out of curiosity - and grinned when he clocked where it would be going. "The second I sign this, it's goin' straight to Juno's desk, ain't it?"

"Yes, it will be."

Betel smirked, sniffing as he juiced himself a pen. He could only imagine the look on her wrinkly face when it dropped right in front her. "Nice." 

He handed both the paper and the pen to Lydia who rolled her eyes before signing it herself, jumping a little as it disappeared with a small pop.

"Well," he started, standing up to his full height and clicking his fingers, returning his suit to its stripy, monochromatic glory. "Thanks fer the help, pal." He grabbed Lydia, an arm snaking around her back and tugging her in against him by her hip, much to her distaste.

She fought briefly to pull herself from his grip but gave up her efforts when it was clear he wouldn't be giving in at all. "If Juno comes lookin', tell her me n' the wife are in Hawaii-"

"-wait, _what_?"

"-and that we'll be back soon enough. 'M sure she's gonna have lots to say ta me. She always does."

With that, Betel chuckled and Lydia was, once again, ripped through space and time unexpectedly. She was only saved from a nasty fall on impact by the grip his claw had on her hip. She finally tugged herself away from him, stumbling to the side and frantically looking around once her head had cleared. She was relieved to see they weren't in Hawaii as he'd said they would be - atleast not yet - but rather plain, old Winter River. She made a mental note to never take anything he ever said seriously.

Betelgeuse wanted nothing more than to go straight to some exotic, sunny location but he _had_ told Lydia he'd take her home to say her goodbyes if she behaved. Which she did. And plus, he had all of eternity to fuck around, right? Life would be much easier if he just catered to the little goth girls whims for the moment and saved himself a headache later on. Although, as he glanced down sideways at his wife, he noted she didn't look all too happy. 

Her shoulders sagged as she took in the sight of the house she'd been sat in only an hour ago; blissfully unaware of what would come for her. The disgust towards Betelgeuse that had melted away slightly thanks to the captivating nature of the neitherworld returned with a vengeance and she turned slowly around, fixing him with a look that could kill.

" _I want twenty four hours_. When that time is up, you can come get me but I don't want to see you until then," she hissed, staring him dead on in the eyes and faltering when he merely started to laugh. 

Betelgeuse couldn't help it. He'd been kind enough to _actually_ take her home despite having the ability to go literally fucking anywhere and she hadn't even the decency to thank him? Not only that but she thought demanding things of him was a good idea? He wasn't sure when the message that _he_ was in charge would sink in to her adorable, thick little skull but if it didn't do so soon he was worried he might have to force it in himself.

"You get thirty minutes."

"No _fucking way_. I want-"

"-and every time ya argue I'll knock off five minutes of your time," he grinned, throughly enjoying the way she assumed she could boss him around. He was ten times more powerful than he had been merely ten minutes ago. He could blow this town off the face of the earth if he wanted to. She had no grounds to make demands and it seemed she realised that as he watched her face fall. 

" _Fine_. But..." she paused and stared down at herself, grimacing at the dress, "...can you at least change me out of this _thing_." There was no way her family see her in the completely out of character garment. 

"Hmm, I dunno if I wanna," he hummed, reaching a clawed hand out to run sleazy fingers along her silk-clad hip. "All that baggy black shit ya wear don't do any favours for ya, y'know, babe." 

The ghost merely snorted in amusement when Lydia quickly slapped his hand away, glaring molten fire at him and _daring_ him to try touch her again. "Fine, _fine_ , I'll change it."

She sighed in relief when the tight fabric melted back into inky black layers of soft cotton as per her request; the replacement clothing was admittedly a little more form fitting than she'd usually go for but certainly better than what she was in previously. 

"Thank you," she sighed before turning away to face the house again. The sky was darker than it had been when she'd left (or being taken, rather) and so something told her more time than she thought had passed. She could only hope she'd been gone less than a day and everyone was there to greet her when she knocked. 

"You've got thirty minutes starting from now. I'll be back on the dot, babe. Use yer time wisely," he muttered from behind her, his mouth close enough to her ear that it set the hairs on her back standing at attention.

Whilst it felt like endgame, something told her she'd be back in Winter River soon enough. The ghost appeared to be fond of her in some way shape or form and Lydia could only hope to use that to her advantage in the future. For now, however, she had to use her time wisely. Her priority was the Maitlands. If she could convince them to get word to Juno then maybe she'd have a shot at escape. 

Betelgeuse waited a fleeting moment before he disappeared behind her with a pop, though in reality had just shifted his visibility. He favoured choosing to follow her as she walked steadily up to the front door instead of going off to entertain himself for the short time. He found she was more interesting than anything else he could think of off the top of his head.

The girl paused before she raised a tentative fist and knocked thrice on the wood, waiting patiently for the door to open.


	4. hormonal-ball-of-arbitrary-human-issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too happy with this but for the sake of storyline progression...

Lydia wasn't sure what emotion she was feeling as she waited at the door. It was a cruel mix of anticipation, excitement, dread and the feeling of a fast-approaching endgame. She was sure her head would sit straight as soon as she saw her ghostly friends' faces yet nothing could be done to chase away the churning in her stomach. She was married to a dead man now and, whether she liked it or not, her life would never be the same.

Her breath hitched when the door handle started to shake but the initial burst of nervous glee deflated as fast as it had come when she was faced with a shock of black fabric and red hair.

"Oh, Lydia!" Delia grinned once she'd finally realized it was her own step-daughter stood on the doorstep. The flustered woman hastily pulled Lydia inside by the arm, very briefly hugging her before shutting the door with a dismissive slam. "See, I _told_ the Maitlands you were fine," she sighed, shaking her head. Lydia had clearly caught her in the middle of a sculpting session; she had her so-called 'messy clothes' on and a thin layer of clay dust coated her hands. Any other day, Lydia would've been curious as to what new monstrosity her stepmother was cooking up in her art room but she was far too caught up on what the woman had said.

She furrowed her brow at the comment, still a little jarred by Delia's hasty mood. "What? What do you mean?"

"They said something had happened you and you were gone. Wouldn't tell me or Charles what it was," the woman said airily, waving her hand in a dismissive manner. "I told them you just like to go out sometimes. You're a free spirit like that; always have been."

Lydia was used to Delia's flippant attitude towards most things but she felt a small spark of irritation catch on as she spoke about her disappearance so casually. Lydia fought to hide her disappointment and instead decided she'd seek out affections from the Maitlands. By the sounds of it, they were deeply concerned about her whereabouts and she needed to let them know she was okay.

"Are they upstairs?" 

"Who?"

" _The Maitlands_ , Delia."

"They said they were going to talk to Juno? Whatever that means... They really ought to stop worrying so much," the woman said with a barely-there grimace as she narrowed her eyes. "Although, you should stop being so reckless. You've been gone all last night and today. What is it you get up to?"

There was a lot to unpack there. Primarily, the fact that Maitlands were either leaving or had left to find Juno. Her stomach sank at the thought that they had potentially already gone; if they had, then who knew how long it would take for them to get back. 

Lydia didn't miss the minuscule hint of concern Delia was managing to express for her; although it bordered more on curiosity than anything. If the Maitlands were gone, there wouldn't be anyone else in the house aside from Delia who could help her...

She looked back over at her stepmother only to catch the way she was looking her up and down in a scrutinizing, maternal manner. "What are you wearing, by the way? I dont remember you ever buying that. It's nice but its a little much for you, isn't it?"

Ok, so maybe Delia wouldn't be of any help after all.

"I uh- I was out shopping," Lydia sighed, glancing towards the stairs and preparing to make a break for it. She was very aware that she only had a half hour to say her goodbyes and give the Maitlands her reassurances. "I'm gonna go and try find Barbara, now. I need to uh- tell her I'm okay. Or something. Thank's for letting me in."

Delia sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes before shrugging Lydia's thank-you's off. "Of course, of course. Just bring a key next time you go wondering off."

Lydia didnt bother replying, already on her way up the stairs as if her life depended on it. The house was eerily quiet save for the distant hum of music from Delia's art room where it seemed she'd began sculpting again. The thud of Lydia's heavy boots echoed throughout the house yet something about it made her uneasy. She tiptoed her way across the landing, heading straight for the attic stairs, but paused when she saw the closed door of her fathers study.

She hadn't spoken to him properly for a long time - even before she'd disappeared - and she found herself wondering if he'd been worried about her absence. He always had cared a little more than Delia about her whereabouts. He was her only remaining biological parent, after all.

She tiptoed up to the door, pressing her ear to the wood and squinting as she searched for any sounds coming from within. Nothing. "Dad?" she tried, speaking softly but loud enough that he'd hear if he was there. Again, nothing.

She braved a couple of knocks next, the sound echoing through the eerily still house just as her shoes had done. "Dad? Are you in there?" 

Still, no reply. She figured he had to be in there since, when he wasnt in his office, he was almost always trailing around after Delia like a lost puppy. With a slightly defeated sigh, Lydia opened the door herself and stuck her head in. 

"Oh."

He was in there, after all. Only, he was face down on the desk with a half-empty bottle of scotch in one hand and a stack of papers clutched loosely in the other. He usually only had a drink these days when he was exceptionally stressed out - he'd been warned to cut back by the hospital after an almost-heartattack - and Lydia could only assume the Maitlands concerns had driven him to the bottle.

Still, the flippant nature of Delia's greeting and the depressing sight of her father out of commission was enough to remind her that nobody was waiting around for her. Not any of the living, anyways. She felt some of the comfort of being back melt away and she felt almost as empty as she had during the shotgun wedding ceremony. She should never have asked to come back.

With a defeated sigh and tightened jaw, Lydia backed out of the office slowly and closed the door behind her. It shut with a small click and Lydia tiptoed her way across the landing. She was paying extra attention to staying as quiet as possible so as not to wake her father - though she doubted even the wildest of storms would stir him - since she really didn't want to have to deal with him whilst he was in a state of intoxication. 

The girl decided to just stick to her original goal of trying to find the Maitlands and rerouted for the attic door, opening it with a soft click and staring up at the attic stairs. They'd always been so eerie looking and the sense of paranormality was only elevated by the knowledge that the stairs lead to the home of two ghosts. 

Now they just looked depressing. 

She was slower in her ascent of the attic stairs than she had been the main staircase, her booted feet causing the old wood to creak sickeningly with every careful step. Once at the top, she entered slowly, still hoping childishly that she'd walk in to find her ghostly parents lounging around as if nothing had ever happened. Of course, that would've been too good to be true.

The lights were off and the model was covered by a thin dustsheet which indicated that the Maitlands knew full well they could be gone for months. It reminded her vaguely of the sheets the Maitlands had been wearing when she'd first met them which only sent a further pang of sadness vibrating throughout her stomach. 

The more she looked around at the empty space, the more uneasy she felt. Few things scared Lydia. A couple of those few things included loneliness and abandonment. Infact, she felt the sickness in her stomach rising so fast she almost made to leave but faltered when her eyes landed on a purposefully placed slip of paper.

Figuring it had to be important, she swallowed down her nerves and approached cautiously, feeling less guilty about poking around when she saw it was actually a note addressed to her. 

_Dearest Lydia,_

_If you're reading this and we're not back, then we both truly hope you're safe and we were just overreacting about your sudden disappearance. I know we worry too much but we couldn't sit back wait around with knowledge that our worst fears could be true. If these fears of ours were correct and you are with that damned poltergeist then please rest assured we're doing everything we can to get you the help that you need. We're on our way to speak to Juno and get you proper, legal assistance. Just sit tight a while longer. Don't be reckless and do not let him touch you._

_Lots and Lots and Lots of love,_

_Adam and Barbara_

Lydia hadn't even realized she'd began crying until a droplet fell from her cheek and onto the note. She quickly dabbed at it with her sleeve, not wishing to ruin the writing, and flopped hopelessly back onto the couch. She read the note through a second time and then a third time and a fourth time.

The knowledge that the Maitlands were on their way to fetch help felt bittersweet. On one hand it proved that somebody cared about her but on the other hand she knew they were wasting their time. Nobody could stop Betelgeuse. He'd said it himself. Lydia continued to stare down at the Maitlands names, the last of her hope slowly oozing away. 

It was only a matter of time before Betelgeuse returned to announce it was time to leave and she knew she probably should've been doing something more productive yet she stayed put. She simply didn't have the motivation nor the willpower to get up.

***

Betelgeuse had held up his plan of following Lydia and eavesdropping for all of five minutes before getting tired of her mothers shrill voice and floating off to find another form of entertainment. He'd been gently drawn towards the sound of faint music which eventually led him to an art room of sorts. There were various shitty half-finished models but what really caught his eye was the life-size replication of his snake form.

A wide grin spread out over his face and he felt his ego grow tenfold. She was irritating but he had to give it to the woman; she had good photographic memory. Judging by the detail and precision of the model, he'd stuck around in her head. It was comforting to know he still had it. Lydia made him seriously doubt himself sometimes... he wasn't sure that girl had ever been truly scared of him.

As his mind was drawn back to the little goth, he figured he ought to go find her. His main priority was checking out the Roadhouse - making sure it was livable and such - before tying up some loose ends that had been fraying ever since he was first put away. He seriously doubted Lydia would still be talking to the redhead since it seemed her patience was even shorter than his and by the sounds of it their conversation hadn't been going anywhere in the first place.

He phased up through the ceiling and onto the second floor where he glanced around, listening out for any sign of her. He was confused for a moment before remembering that all she cared about was those damn stiffs. The ghost rolled his eyes before phasing up again, emerging out into the attic.

He solidified himself, dropping to the wood with a heavy thunk, and grinned wide. "Welp. Tha's thirty minutes, babe. I got shit to d-"

He paused when he finally laid his eyes on her, curled up in a little ball of black on a dusty couch with damp cheeks. Shit. She was crying. The ghoul couldn’t help but scowl; both because he was awful at dealing with human emotions and also because she hadn't acknowledged his appearance in the slightest. Hell, she hadn’t even flinched... Then he noticed how mysteriously empty and abandoned the attic space looked. 

He approached her slowly, noticing curiously that she had a little slip of paper clutched in her tiny hands. Well, if she wasn't going to pay him any attention then he'd just have to find out why she was so upset himself. With surprising speed, the ghost plucked the note from the girls soft grip and ignored her protesting cry. She made a grab for it but Betelgeuse stepped out of range and Lydia simply slumped back down, not deeming it worth a fight. The dead mans face soured as he read through, his nose wrinkling up at the mention of Juno.

"Bummer," Betelgeuse grunted, folding up the note with little care and chucking it back towards Lydia who caught it before it could crumple. Once she had it safely in her grip, she tucked it carefully away and shot Betel a deadly look through teary eyes. The ghoul deflated a little under her pained glare and ran a clawed hand through his hair. "Cmon, babe. Lets go-"

"-I dont want to go!" she interrupted quickly, standing up from where she was curled in an attempt to stand her ground. "What I want to do is talk to the Maitlands but I can't thanks to you. _Theyre gone._ They're using up one of their help vouchers," she hissed, her eyes welling up a little the more she worked herself up.

Betelgeuse merely furrowed his brow in response, finding it incredibly difficult to muster up any sympathy for the two ghosts. They were responsible for this mess, after all. Hell, if they'd just let him go through with the marriage the first time then the problem at hand wouldn't even exist. All he wanted to do was make sure his roadhouse was in check and then go lounge back on a fucking beach somewhere with a pretty goth chick on his lap but of course she had to go all hormonal-ball-of-arbitrary-human-issues on him.

"Yeah, yeah, that sucks 'n all but it was kinda their choice," he sniffed, taking a steady step forwards and watching with a concealed grin as she raised her chin, standing her ground. Her eyes narrowed in response to him which only served to push her tears over the edges of her cheek. "They did it because they care about me. They're the only ones who do."

"They ain't even ya real parents, short stack, cmon-"

"-No. They're not. You're right. They're _better_ than my real parents." Lydia continued to glare at him and he glared right back. If she wanted to still have a tongue by the end of the day it was in her best interest to stop interrupting him. "You know what Delia said about me disappearing? _Nothing_. She wasn't even worried. And my dad? He was out cold on his desk with a bottle of scotch in his hand."

"A man of culture, clearly."

" _Betelgeuse_."

The ghost groaned, running weary hands down his face before raising them in surrender. "Kid, I don't understand why ya think I give two shits. I picked ya specifically for this deal 'cause ya could already see me and ya understood me on some level. _Sure, ya got a nice ass or whatever_ but that don't mean I give a fuck 'bout yer family issues."

Lydia's jaw tensed up and the ghost was almost certain she was about to hit him. Unfortunately, the girl simply turned away, wandering off towards the model and breathing heavily in an attempt to calm herself down. She ran her finger along the silhouette of one of the model houses under the dustsheet before turning her gaze back to the ghost. "We both know that when they do eventually get through to Juno, she'll probably tell them there's nothing she can do and they'll have to just come back here. I can't- I can't have them not knowing what happened to me. I can't have that on my conscience."

Betelgeuse bit back a yell of frustration. She clearly wasn't listening to him. Shit, he should've just grabbed her and juiced them out of there before she'd even started talking... in truth, he still could. Though, he figured it wouldn't go down too well and he’d rather save himself the abuse. "Give me one reason why helpin' those stiffs will benefit me."

Lydia set her jaw and held her chin up high. "If you don't go get them I will not shut up about it until you do. I can be persistent. I grew up in New York."

Ah, the stubbornness of a teenager. One of the greatest forces known to man. Betelgeuse muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a long string of curses under his breath, scratching his neck. " _Fuck_ , fine," he spat, baring his grimy teeth. "But you'll owe me, Lydia. I mean it."

"You'll get them?"

"Yeah, I'll fuckin' get them."

Lydia could've grovelled at his feet in relief as the tension in her shoulders melted away. She managed to hold herself back, internally somersaulting. She wasn't actually expecting him to help her a second time. She'd lucked out with him agreeing to take her home and she knew asking him to go fetch the Maitlands so they wouldn't rot in the waiting room for nothing was a stretch. Her glee and gratefulness fizzled out slightly when the ghost took a step forwards, invading her personal space in a manner meant to be intimidating. "I mean it, Lyds. You'll owe me one. I've waited too damn long to be free and you makin' me wait longer to indulge is gonna cost ya."

She swallowed hard, tensing up as she nodded quickly and non-verbally. She didn't want to say the wrong thing and piss him off to the point of him changing his mind. "Good," he grunted, taking a small step back and letting her breath. "Might as well go get packin' while I'm gone. Dunno how long this bullshit'll take."

Lydia's mind flitted back to the fact that the Maitlands simple ten minute appointment had lasted months before and she wilted. Still, it was either wait around in Winter River for an uncertain amount of time or go straight off to god-knows-where with the ghost and leave the Maitlands in the dark. She'd much prefer taking her chances with the first option.

Lydia took a deep breath before nodding again. "Got it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Apologies if this chapter seems a little lacklustre. Fun fact - I wrote 4.5K words for this chapter and was rather proud of it but for some reason my computer didn't save it properly and when I went to edit it a couple days ago the entire chapter had deleted itself :D I'll admit from experience, rewriting something you've already spent hours working on is a mood killer. All that aside, the next chapter will be longer and will hopefully have a little more love put into it


	5. death and sickly depression

The second Betelgeuse appeared in the civil office, his nose screwed wrinkled up in a knee-jerk reaction to the sickly, cloying scent of eternally-rotting corpses. Despite having been surrounded by death for centuries, he'd never quite gotten used to the lingering aroma of the office. Nobody did. 

He glanced around with a grimace, the countless poor souls pouring over paperwork all melding into one very familiar image reminiscent of his first two centuries as a dead man.

God, he couldn't believe he'd willingly gone back. Of course, he knew it would benefit him in the long run if just to sate Lydia's need to give the Maitland stiffs closure and avoid unnecessary tension. There was enough of that already. Still, he was irritated at his own inability to say no to the Deetz girl. Was it just because she was a looker? Hell, he'd always had issues turning down pretty women and it seemed it wouldn't stop with the goth. Even if those things he couldn't turn down proved to inconvenience him.

The ghost gently shook his head of his thoughts and made way for the door which would lead him into the waiting room. He ran a half-arsed hand through his hair in a vague attempt to tame the top and straightened up his striped blazer before slipping through the wood and stepping into the foyer. The smell of death and sickly depression was less strong however the familiar place was enough to keep him feeling sick to his stomach. Only a couple days previous had he been sat on the dusty couch, watching the seconds tick by on his watch for what felt like several millennia.

And now he was back. Lydia really, _really_ would owe him. More than she already did. The girl seemed to have a knack for collecting debts. 

The poltergeist spotted the Maitlands before they spotted him and he was glad for his. He had the immense pleasure of watching their entire reaction; from the initial recognition all the way through to anger taking shape. Both of their features contorted into rage - an expression that didn't suit the soft, loving couple - and they leapt to their feet. The other inhabitants of the room didn't pay them any attention as they stormed forward, fingers outstretched accusingly.

" _YOU!_ ”Adam yelled.

"Me!" Betelgeuse shouted back, a deeply amused grin taking over his features. 

Barbara, on the other hand, had immediately looked behind Betelgeuse with a concerned-yet-hopeful expression simmering beneath the rage. Once she'd realized Betelgeuse was on his own and their beloved little girl wasn't trailing behind she found her flame again. The ghost stood his ground as she approached him, sunken eyes watching her with humor.

"Where is she. I _know_ it was you who took her so you tell us _right now_ where she is or- or I'll-"

"-Or you'll what, Babs? Go on, I _really_ wanna hear this."

She continued glaring at him, her mouth open as if she were on the verge of spitting an insult his way but it couldn't quite find shape on her tongue. Thankfully, Adam stepped in before she could dig herself a second grave. "Don't play games with us Betel. If you dont tell us where she is, we'll just ask Juno," he spat, watching as the ghost raised a brow in response to his ex-bosses name. The poltergeist could only bark out a harsh laugh in response to the pathetic intimidation attempt.

"Tha's cute Adam. _Real_ cute," he grinned, taking immense satisfaction from the ghosts discomfort. "Unfortunately, Juno couldn't help ya if she wanted to. Which she probably does, if I’m honest with ya,” Betelgeuse chuckled, running his tongue over his dry lower lip before raising his hand and showing off the golden band nestled on his finger. "Me n' the wife are legally bound now so there ain't _shit_ any of ya can do."

He held back a bark of laughter as he watched the way the couple's faces wilted in absolute  
horror as the reality of what he was insinuating dawned on them.

“ _WIFE_?" the pair of them yelled at the same time, chests heaving despite the fact breathing wasn't a necessity for them.

Before Betelgeuse could gloat further, the shutter of the front desk slammed open and a familiar head jerked out, deep brown eyes narrowing. 

" _Can you quiet it down out th_ -"

Miss Argentina paused the second her eyes registered the fact it was Betelgeuse she was seeing and her carefully cared-for brows shot up. If the dead could blush, she certainly would've. "Betel? You're back?"

" _Missed me_ , Tina?"

He could see her running her tongue over her teeth behind closed lips, willing her mouth to stay shut, and she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him. "So _you_ are the reason they are pestering me, bugbreath?" she asked, jerking her head to the still-furious Maitlands. The ghost's grin simply widened and she groaned, sinking back into her chair, waving a manicured hand dismissively. "Take this somewhere else, would you? I do not want to be the one responsible for any messes you make here. Not after last time." At that, the shutter was slammed back closed.

The ghost sniffed, quirking his brows before turning his attention back to the seething Maitlands. "Y'heard the lady. Better get outta here," he grunted, beginning to inch towards the exit. Barbara wasn't having it and, instead of submissively trailing after him like he wished she would, stuck a hand out. She grabbed his arm, tightening her grip and forced him to look back at her.

" _No_. Absolutely not. We are staying here and we are getting help."

Betelgeuse merely chuckled and pulled away, his arm detaching at the shoulder and staying gorily in Barbara's iron grip. She yelped in disgusted surprise and released her hold on the limb immediately. Betel bent down, picking it up and reattaching it to his body as if nothing has occurred.

"Listen, Barb. I'm only here cause Lyds don't want ya waitin' for a caseworker that ain't gonna do _shit_ for ya. Infact, the little lady is waitin' back in Winter River as we speak," he hissed, rounding on her. "But _hey_ , if ya wanna stay here?-" he raised his hands in a sign of mock-surrender. "-Be my guest. I'll just juice back there, tell 'er I couldn't find ya and take her off to do the shit I wanna do. Believe it or not, I ain't here 'cause I wanna be. I'm doin' her a favor so she don't bug me for the rest of eternity about it. If ya gonna act like a pair o' assholes the I'll just piss back off without ya."

The pair stood there in a shocked silence for a second, glancing at eachother before turning back to the smug ghoul. "She's- she's back at home? Waiting for us?"

"Yeah, _four eyes_ , she's safe n' sound in yer stingy attic. But the longer ya take, the more time passes up there and the more likely she is to do somthin' supid. _Ya know how the kid is_ ," he growled, narrowing his eyes. He could practically see the cogs turning in their heads. "So ya coming or not?"

Adam went to speak again but Barbara waved him off, effectively silencing him. It had been clear to Betelgeuse who wore the pants in the relationship the second he saw them but watching her shut him up was never going to stop being entertaining to him. The woman always had the last word in relationships like theirs. "Yes. Yes, we'll come."

"But Barbara..."

"Adam. _Please_. I just want to see her." 

He sighed and nodded slowly, shuffling closer to his wife and seeking out a little bit of physical comfort. "Fine... fine. I do too."

The ghost was about ready to slam his head through the closest wall and made an audible sound of relief when the man agreed. " _Fuck_ , finally. C'mon then, assholes."

Without looking back to double check the Maitlands' compliance, Betel made a bee-line for the revolving door and slipped through into the hazy green mist beyond. He hadn't traveled between the planes in such a way for a long time - favoring his ability to simply teleport himself between - and so it took a while to catch his bearings and aim for Winter River. Once he finally found the right gateway, he slipped through into the attic.

It seemed the Maitlands had found their way through the fog quicker than he had and they were still in the process of looking around. It was just as they'd left it and, thankfully, not quite as dusty as Betelgeuse had assumed it might be. They hadn't been gone too long. Still, the space was dark and the air felt heavy and smelt slightly musty; like how a home felt when one returned from a long holiday. Betel saw both Barbara and Adam's eyes narrow and they turned to face him in tandem.

"This was a trick, _wasn't it_ ," Adam hissed, gesturing at the abandoned space. "She's not really he-"

"-Adam! Barbara!"

Adam's accusations were cut off quickly as the attic lights jumped on the and the door swung open, a mass of black darting through, heading straight for the pair. Barbara barely had time to react as Lydia threw herself at them, arms wide and a rare smile on her face. Betelgeuse sneered at Adam, silently mocking the man for turning on him so quickly. Adam glared back.

Barbara, on the other hand, was too busy clutching onto Lydia to waste time shooting daggers at the poltergeist. "I'm so glad you're okay honey," she said in a rush, squeezing Lydia crushingly tight before letting up a little and instead just taking both of her hands in her own. Her smile dropped slightly when she felt a cool hardness in her hands and she shifted her grip, glancing down to see a metal band wrapped around Lydia's finger. Her shoulders dropped and she gave Lydia a sad look. "He really did it?"

Lydia pulled her hand away from her ghostly mother quickly in slight shame and nodded in response to her question, glancing up at Betelgeuse who'd backed up and was leaning against one of the beams whilst he watched the reunion, a cigarette between his teeth. He was giving her a hooded, expectant look and she ground her teeth before meeting his eyes. "Thank you for bringing them back."

He sniffed at that, blowing out a stream of smoke before pushing off from the beam. "Anythin' else you _need_ me to do, babes? Or can we finally get outta here. Bein' around these folks makes me antsy. It's like... PTSD or som'thin'."

Barbara chose to ignore the last comment, instead perking up at the former one, her brows raising. "...What do you mean _we_? _She's_ staying right here," the woman said sternly, pulling Lydia close to her protectively. 

"Oh, _I don't think so_ ," he grinned as he took a step forth, enjoying the way Barbara took an uncomfortable step back with Lydia still wrapped up in her arms. The girl frowned slightly, wriggling in her grip and dipping free of the womans arms. 

"It's fine, Barbara, really-"

"-No, it is not fine, young lady. You've done what he needed you to do so you're staying," Adam interjected. "It's non-negotiable," he added when Betel turned his attention to him.

The ghost just barked out a laugh, idly tipping his cigarette back and forth between his fingers. "Sure. _Sure_ , ya can keep her. But hey, when she starts _witherin' away_ after a couple o' hours? Don't try callin' me for help. Hell, even if ya try to I wont come. The little lady made sure o' that."

Both of the ghosts' expressions shifted, and they glanced at Lydia, heads cocked curiously. "What- what does he mean? He's just trying to scare us, _right_?"

Lydia bowed her head and tugged herself from Barbara's grip a second time. She shrugged then, avoiding their eyes and instead glaring at the poltergeist. "I'm _sorry_. There were some... weird rules or something with the marriage. I-I've gotta go with him."

"Lydia..." Adam's face fell as he breathed out her name, adjusting his glasses. He opened his mouth to speak but Lydia cut him off with a sudden hopeful smile. "But I'm sure I'll be allowed to visit regularly. Right?" she said, glancing back over at the ghost. He merely snorted, taking a drag. "In your dreams, shortstack."

She shook her head, turning back to the Maitlands before rolling her eyes. "I'll find a way to come back and visit," she assured them in a hush tone. Adam dropped his shoulders and pulled Lydia into another hug. "We're trying to get you help," he said slowly. "We'll find a way to talk to Juno. If you'd just let us go back in and wait for an appointment-"

"-I'm grateful - _I really am_ \- but I don't think there's anything you can do."

"You can't seriously just be putting up with this," Barbara complained, placing a cool hand on her shoulder. " _Please_ let us help you. We fought so hard to keep you safe the first time." Her head dropped. "I can't bear the thought of you being stuck with him, of all people."

"I'm right here," the ghost grunted. Everyone ignored him.

"I don't think he'll hurt me," Lydia said softly, pulling herself from Adam's arms and addressing the both of them with honest eyes. "I'm pretty sure his freedom depends on me being alive." She spoke quieter then, managing a smile. "I'll work something out."

She straightened up then, looking back over to see him watching the exchange with an infuriatingly smug grin. "I need to get my bags," she said steadily, nodding towards the attic door. I had time to pack; you were gone for three whole days, you know?" At that she slid through the door, giving the trio a weary look and praying they wouldn't try kill each other in her brief absence. 

It seemed an offhanded prayer wouldn't be enough as, unsurprisingly, the second Lydia was out of sight Adam rounded on Betelgeuse. "There is another way _isn't there_? She doesn't _have_ to go with you. This is all a- a big lie. You're doing this for your own _sick reasons_." It was a humorous sight; the shorter man in plaid and glasses rounding on the poltergeist who towered over Adam in both physical height and presence. Still, Betelgeuse's menacing air did little to stop the ghost pointing fingers.

"So far all she's done is delay me, four eyes," Betel spat in response, too irritated by Adams insistent, protective hostility to find him funny. "If she didn't have to follow around aft'r me, I woulda been long gone by now." 

It was a half truth... but that counted for something, surely. Betelgeuse wasn't lying when he said it was a genuine part of the wedding clause but if he were to be truthful, he was hardly complaining about it. Even if he didn't have to, he likely would've found an excuse to drag Lydia along with him.

The poltergeist suspected Adam knew this to some extent and the men held fiery eye contact for several long moments before the shorter ghost broke the tense silence.

"If you hurt her or- or _touch her_ I'll find a way to kill you a second time," he hissed, attempting to stand up a little taller. "I'm sure Delia would be more than happy to get Otho on the phone."

"Ya need somethin' from my past to carry out an exorcism, genius. The fatboy definitely don't have anythin' like that," Betelgeuse snorted, unable to hold back a laugh at the mention of the pathetic excuse for an interior designer. "But don't worry, I wont touch her." He chucked what was left of his cigarette but aside when the sound of footsteps started to echo up the attic stairwell. " _Not unless she wants me to_."

Barbara, who had remained silent in favor of letting the two men stare eachother down, was finally pushed far enough by Betel's comment to break the silence and step in but whatever protest she had prepared was interrupted by Lydia bursting back into the attic with a bag in either hand.

"I'm- uh, ready," she said, frowning at the tense scene before her. Atleast she hadn't come back to find anyone being sent to a secondary grave. She'd pretty much accepted her fate by that point, resigned to the fact she'd be leaving her home for the foreseeable future. Whilst she wanted to cry and hold onto the only two people who'd ever loved her, her dignity and morbid curiosity concerning the neitherworld was getting the better of her. If she was gonna get dragged off somewhere, she might as well try enjoy it, right?

Betelgeuse himself was rather surprised by how neatly she'd packed and how unconcerned she looked with the events considering what was happening. "Dont ya wanna go announce yer departure to Chuck and Red?"

Lydia frowned at that, her thoughts drifting down to her legal parents. The last few days they'd barely paid her any mind. It occurred to her then that they'd been this way even since the very day of the first wedding. She just hadn't realized it since the Maitlands had always been there to give her the attention she'd needed. It was a rough blow but spending the few days on her own had delivered it for the better. She looked up at the ghost with dull eyes.

"Nah. I prefer the mystery." A small, childish smile managed to worm its way onto her face. "I left a note on my bed saying I'm running away with someone. They'll live their whole lives wondering what happened to me... _Or they'll just be relieved I'm gone_."

The thought was admittedly a little funny. Apparently the Maitlands did not feel the same way.

"Lydia... this isn't a laughing matter. Your parents care about you _very much_."

The girl exhaled a half-laugh, turning to Barbara. "They care about me as much as Betelgeuse probably does," she said, shooting him a dark look before returning her gaze to the the ghostly woman. "Don't- don't tell them what's really happening. Please?"

Both ghosts seemed like they were about to argue but Lydia furrowed her brow, holding a hand up and flashing the ring. "They can't do anything about this. The truth will just rip them up more than the idea of me running away will. Atleast this way they'll think it was willing." The ghost received another dirty look.

Barbara and Adam exchanged a solemn, silent look before turning back to their daughter and sighing. " _Fine_."

She can see and hear their reluctance but she assumed they were probably too scared to force her to stay what with the powerful poltergeist still looming in the corner and watching over them with an amused expression. Plus, Lydia looked disturbingly ready to go. They were both determined to find any way to get her back with minimal conflict but in a strange way, they were sure she'd be safe whilst they did so. Deep down, everyone knew the poltergeist wouldn't really hurt Lydia. And she was strong enough that she'd stop him doing anything she didn't want him to in the meantime. 

"Well then folks," Betel announced, his scratchy voice breaking through the static. He pushed off the beam and strolled into the center of the space. "I got some spring cleanin' to do. Gotta check out how the digs is holdin' up without me around, _ya know how it is_."

He glanced down at the goth who's vision was aimed pointedly at her feet. "Y'ready, babe?"

She sighed, nodding, and let the Maitlands pull her in for one last tight hug. Whilst it felt final, she was still standing firm on the mindset that she would be seeing them again. Soon, too. "I really love you guys."

"We love you too, honey."

"Stay safe, Lydia."

She broke away reluctantly and ran a hand wearily through her thick hair, glancing sideways up at the ghoul who was watching her with piercing impatience. 

“Lets go."

With an infuriatingly smug grin, the ghost hooked his own arm through Lydia's a little more forcefully than likely necessary and tugged her close to him, preparing to juice the both of them out of the attic. He chose to spare the ghosts any parting words and instead just very pointedly flipped both of the Maitlands off. 

Betelgeuse's triumphant middle finger was the last thing the pair was subjected to seeing before both him and Lydia disappeared from the space.


	6. context-clues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short-ish filler chapter :) also a quick thank you to the people who have left reviews or kudos so far! I _really_ appreciate it and it’s very comforting to know people are somewhat enjoying this since it it’s the first fic I’ve ever got around to uploading online

Lydia was yet again vulnerable to the ghost and her surroundings as they landed somewhere unfamiliar, the jarring effect of Betelgeuse's teleportation abilities rendering her momentarily useless. Slowly her vision began to seep back in and the nausea was already ebbing away. She could only pray that juicing around like that was something she could acclimate to because having to fight the will to pass out every time the ghost wanted to drag her off somewhere was not an appealing thought.

She shook the last of her discomfort out of her head and then took in the surroundings, her eyes roving over every detail of the strange, run down building they'd appeared in. It looked a little like a large shed in terms of the bare-wood walls and very visible nails holding everything in place. It was far brighter in the off-kilter structure than it was in Betelgeuse's crypt and the entire space was bathed in a natural, orange glow. 

There was furniture, proving this was infact a living space, however it was all awfully motheaten and rather cluttered. The couch (which was littered with little tears, stains and holes) boasted a considerable layer of dust and had several newspapers strewn across the cushions. The coffee table before it was somewhat similar in state however there were countless beer bottles and candles instead of papers. Thankfully his messes ended there and the ground was mostly clear so Lydia wouldn't have to worry about stepping on any smashed glass.

Once she was finished giving the space a wary once-over, her gaze found its way back to Betelgeuse who was apparently watching her with a discomforting leer as she took it all in. He looked awfully pleased with himself and Lydia couldn’t help but narrow her eyes.

"Y'know babe," he started, juicing up a pre-lit smoke and sticking it between his teeth, "if looks could kill, I'd be a pile of ash what with the amount of dirty glares ya been shootin' at me." He then turned his attention to his shoddy house and grinned. "What dya think of the digs? _Y’like it?_ ” he asked in a vaguely sarcastic tone, knowing full well it was no royal palace.

She chose to ignore his jab, instead turning her attention back to the room. Trying to guess exactly where they were was difficult although one thing was certain: "It's hardly hawaii," she said dryly, cocking her head before running a finger along the back of the couch. The dust gathered beneath her finger and she blew it off with a grimace.

The ghost chuckled at her dry observation, glancing around himself and noting that none of the furniture placement had changed since he'd last been 'home'. "It's _home sweet home_. Feels good to be back. Hasn't changed a bit." He frowned then, turning his head slightly at the clean floor. "Little cleaner than I left it, actually..." That was definitely Ginger's doing. She was a clean freak, after all. He had a lot to do. Namely, making more of a mess of the place. And restocking the fridge with copious amounts of neitherworldian booze, of course. 

There was also the issue of figuring out what the fuck he was supposed to do now he was free. He had a few fraying ends to tie up - past enemies that he'd never gotten around to visiting - but otherwise he hadn't really planned for freedom. Maybe he'd lay low for a couple of centuries? Mindless self indulgence in the form of being lazy was severely underrated.

Whilst Betelgeuse mulled over all these questions, Lydia remained stood by the ratty couch feeling rather awkward and lost. 

"Why are we _here?_ " she asked, breaking the silence and then pausing before adding, " _where_ is here?"

She didn't have access to enough context-clues from the architecture to take a guess at an exact location but the orange glow suggested that they were somewhere slightly more exotic than Connecticut and that perhaps it was mid-evening. _Unless..._

"We're in the Neitherworld, babe. Just a different part to last time," he grunted. He pointed over at one of the windows and blew the drawn curtains open. "Check it."

 _Of course_ , that made more sense. She perked up a little and hurried over after dropping her bags, pressing her nose against the glass and widening her eyes in thinly concealed awe. 

Betelgeuse chuckled at her sudden interest, quite unable to avert his eyes as he watched her back arch when she leaned forwards, desperately trying to take in everything behind the glass. 

Every part of the neitherworld the girl had seen thus far had been dark, depressing and damp. What she was seeing now was the very opposite. 

The ground beyond the window extended around ten metres before seemingly dropping off into the abyss. The sky was a truly otherworldly orange shade that melted into purple on the horizon. There were what Lydia could only describe as floating motorways looping off into the distance like something from a cartoon and a few of them linked up to floating islands of the liked she'd only ever come across in fantasy books. Though she was trying her very best to keep up the image that she hated Betelgeuse and everything he’d introduced her to, she'd be a damn idiot to deny that this part of the Neitherworld was incredible. If she hadn't already spent so much time with the dead, she'd have sworn she was dreaming.

"Is this where I'll- where _we'll_ \- be staying," she asked, turning back to him and failing to keep the hint of excitement out of her voice. Genuine uncertainty and nervousness only seeped back in as she corrected herself to the plural, still not quite accustomed to the fact that she was now bound to a man. A _much older_ man who no doubt wouldn’t hesitate for a second to take advantage of her if he felt the urge to. 

"Until I can get a better place. When I got this dump I was... ah, _workin' with what I had_. But 'cause of you I'm king shit now and I'll be able to get somewhere _real_ nice," he grinned. "This is the roadhouse. A couple other folk rent it out as well but ya wont see them, they have their own lil' section. 'Though they haven't payed me a penny in about two centuries so I'll need to chase them up soon," he explained, grumbling the last part bitterly more to himself than to Lydia.

She frowned at that, wondering what sort of people would rent out a space with Betelgeuse. Dealing with one of him was a daunting enough concept; staying with another two variations of him was enough to push away any of the fleeting childish giddiness that the beauty of the Neitherworld had given her. "Where are they at the moment?" she asked, hoping her discomfort wasn't too visible.

"Dunno, babe," he grunted back, wondering why that was the detail she was hanging onto. Then he noticed the look of concern on her face and a couple things clicked. Anyone would be aranoid after dealing with him. Plus she hadn't exactly had the best first impression of neitherworld denizens thus far. "They're probably off doing some sappy shit. Bonehead and Ginger are both harmless. _Massive_ fuckin' softies. It's disgusting. You'll love 'em."

She settled slightly at that, her tightened jaw slackening as well as her eyelids. Tiredness was creeping in despite the unfamiliar environment and carnally threatening energy that followed Betelgeuse around wherever he went. Whilst she wanted desperately to stay awake and alert for her own safety, she couldn't ignore her basic needs. Plus, in contrast to his ambience, the ghost _looked_ remarkably nonthreatening as he stood in the center of the room with a smoke clutched between his lips, chest puffed out smugly and his hands burrowed in his pockets.

"Where am I staying, then?" she asked carefully, hinting that she wanted to get out of his company and be alone without explicitly saying it. “Or am I being demoted to the couch,” she added, hoping to try lighten things up a bit; if only to reassure herself. 

The ghoul started slightly at the sound of her voice, having drifted off mentally, and snapped back into the present. He chuckled low in his throat, bending down to pick up the bags Lydia had dropped in her hurry to see the outside "Well, I was hopin' we could share-"

" _Betelgeuse_ ," she said slowly in a soft warning tone, cutting him off before he could finish. She watched his grin twist up further. " _Please._ Dont be a dick."

"Can't blame a man for trying," he grumbled, hitching the bag up onto a striped shoulder before nodding in the direction of a door which Lydia somehow hadn't previously spotted. "This place has a shit ton o' spare rooms. It's just a matter o' pickin' one until I find a new digs."

She watched as he picked up all her stuff effortlessly and frowned, nodding. It was all sounding awfully permanent. Of course, she knew this was a permanent arrangement but the more the ghost spoke, the deeper it was beginning to sink in. She still hadn't decided what she was doing with her education... although she supposed school wasn't really an issue anymore. _Damn._

"Lead the way," she sighed, dipping her head and shrinking slightly as he walked past her, looking far bigger than he actually was with the bulk of two bags on his back. 

She followed him through the door and noted that the second they were through the doorway, everything was far cleaner. It seemed the mysterious roommates made a habit of keeping the place tidy but avoided Betelgeuse's area entirely. Lydia could hardly blame them. 

The DIY aesthetic continued down the corridor but felt a tad more homely and less abandoned-shed-esque. Many mysterious doors lined the walls and Lydia was slowly realizing this place was far larger than she'd anticipated. 

Eventually they stopped at a seemingly random door which was unmarked and no different from the others. Betel pushed it open thoughtlessly, grimacing as a thin coating of dust fell away from where it'd been clinging to the neglected wood. He stuck his head in, scanning the space, before deeming it worthy and waving for her to enters. 

She shuffled slowly past him and inside, relaxing a little when she was faced with something surprisingly half-decent. Admittedly, she'd expected him to give her the bare necessities at most but the room just looked like a bog standard spare guest room that one would find in any large house. It was rather musty but in an the way a house that’d been unoccupied for a while would be and not an unhygienic way. It just needed to be broken in. 

There were _several_ other empty guest rooms of the same nature - some even larger than the one they’d stopped at - yet Betelgeuse certainly wouldn't be telling Lydia that he'd picked that specific one only because it was close to his own room. 

He passed her both of her bags and she ventured further into the space, placing them neatly against a standard chest of drawers. The sheets on the bed were thin - thinner than she was used to - however thankfully she'd discovered that the neitherworld seemed to be at a constant luke-warm temperature which was rather comfortable. She was also pleased to see there was a lock on her door, though obviously no lock could stop Betelgeuse or any dead person if they really wanted to get in. Still, the false idea of safety was somewhat comforting. Lydia had noted that there were no windows in the room. That was the only downside. Perhaps a preventative measure in hopes of stopping Lydia if she decided to make a break for it?

The thought had definitely crossed her mind. 

Lydia glanced back round to where Betelgeuse was still stood watching her. He was leaning against the doorframe (leaning seemed to be a default for him), the light from the doorway illuminating the area behind him and casting his front in shadow save for his face which was gently lit up by the cigarette eternally clutched in his teeth. It seemed he'd been waiting for Lydia to finish her one-over since he straightened up when her attention was placed back onto him. 

"I’m guessing ya approve,” he grunted, noting that she didn’t look upset or angry. Merely put out and a little nervous. “I got some loose ends n' shit to tie up tomorrow. You can tag along fer that. See some more o' the neitherworld." 

It was a command veiled thinly as a suggestion. Lydia didn't need to hear his inner monologue to know he was thinking about all the ways she'd try slip away whilst he was out doing whatever it was he wanted to do. He needn't have to worry though, since Lydia had already perked up at the promise of maybe seeing more of the neitherworld. Hell, if she was going to be stuck there with the slimy ghost then she might as well try to enjoy some of the experience, right? Plus, if she proved to him he could trust her then she might even earn more freedom. The sooner she could get on the same page as him, the sooner she could see the Maitlands again. 

“Sure. Why not."

He seemed content with that, his lips twisting up as he blew out a thin stream of smoke from the nearly-finished cigarette. "Welp, in that case," he started, his voice suddenly becoming much louder as he re-adopted his showmans attitude, “ _I got shit to do_."

He'd been dwelling over what the fuck he could do to kill some time and _properly_ enjoy freedom. Watching Lydia navigate around his house like a scared rabbit had given him a good few ideas. Most of them were filthy ideas that she most certainly would not partake in. Not willingly, anyways. She'd snapped at him when he suggested the concept of merely sharing a room, let alone anything else. Thankfully, there were compromises.

Betelgeuse disappeared from the doorway with a pop and reappeared under the red, hazy glow of _Dantes Inferno_. He figured he could trust Lyds on her own for a while, right? _Right_.

"Home sweet home," he muttered for the second time that hour, although he meant it a little more this time than he did in the roadhouse. It'd been too damn long since he'd had a little fun. Over a year, in fact. He was long overdue. With a final, fruitless adjustment of his suit, he made his way towards the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why, but I feel the need to note that this fic is me having some fun with this fandom and it won’t be very heavily plot based / there will be very little angst and conflict. It’s just me exploring the beetlejuice universe a little through the characters. Although, as I write this I am planning out another fic that’s a lot more plot-heavy, a bit more unique and is based around the concept of Lydia dying and meeting BJ in the afterlife etc. I’ve actually finished writing the skeleton for each chapter for this fic and it’s around 29 chapters long rn :D


	7. blame it on adrenaline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one! 7k words total - I _was_ planning on splitting it into two but I couldn’t figure out a spot to slice it up so here’s a long one :D

Lydia had spent the previous night poking around the guest room in greater detail, more comfortable in her explorations thanks to the fact the ghost was no longer looming in the doorway. She'd discovered the roadhouse did in fact have electricity and a concealed switch by the bed illuminated the room in a comfortable glow via an unknown source. Once she had proper light to work under, she tasked herself with putting her clothes in the drawers; a depressing act since it cemented the permanent nature of her stay in the neitherworld. 

Once she'd finished the task, she then moved onto making sure the bed was comfortable enough to sleep in. It hadn't taken much fluffing on her part since she'd discovered it was already _soft_ and _clean_. The work of Betelgeuse's mysterious roommates, surely. Once she'd gotten herself settled in, she'd found that she drifted off surprisingly easy - apparently her need for sleep far outweighed the need to stay alert in the strange environment. 

Peace could only last so long, however. Despite the fact she'd made a point of locking the door the previous night, she still found herself awoken by the sound of it smashing against the wall as it was thrown open carelessly. Lydia had already been half-awake so she was conscious enough that the sound startled her into a sitting position, her fists clenched at her sides in a subconsciously defensive manner. 

Betelgeuse was stood in the doorway, looking slightly less put-together than he had when he'd left her (which was surprising considering he always looked like he'd dragged himself face-first through a garbage heap). His hair was slightly wilder and the buttons of his blazer were no longer done up which only served to make him look bigger and wider in size. 

Lydia took a moment to catch her breath, urging her heart to slow its fast pace as she realised she was in no immediate danger, before placing her attention fully on the ghost. "Where did you _go_?" she asked slowly, watching as he shifted his stance and grinned sleazily. " _Nevermind_ , I don't wanna know." Lydia ignored his second bout of low laugher as she rubbed away the last of the sleep from her eyes and shook the fog from her brain.

"Get up, sleepin' beauty, _I got people I needa meet_."

She shot him one of her signature glares as he walked off, leaving the door wide open and thus letting a jarring stream of orange light into the room. She could only force herself to feel irritated by his presence, not scared. It was strange, considering his nature and violent history, yet she couldn't help but find him remarkably unthreatening now that the shock of his reappearance had worn off. She found herself constantly drifting back to when he'd had her cornered in the crypt; he was in complete control whilst she was stuck under him in the cold, damp, darkness of that grave. She'd felt scared _then_. He'd actually been scary _then_. 

_Now he was just fucking annoying._

Lydia wondered if he'd only been putting on that terrifying act because he'd been desperate and needed her to say yes. Lydia knew for a fact that if, at the time, he'd been the irritating, goofy ghoul she was slowly becoming accustomed to she'd have probably spat in his face and told him to get lost. She supposed she was glad that his newfound freedom had unlocked a more relaxed side to him. She was certain things would be playing out very differently had she been stuck with evil Betelgeuse. 

Still, she needed to be wary around him. He was unpredictable. 

That mindset remained at the forefront of her mind as she pulled herself from the cosiness of the comforter and out into the gentle warmth of the neitherworld air. She sifted through the clothes she'd put away the night before and picked out a safe, fairly shapeless black dress and pulled on some black boots to match. Swathing herself in layers of dark material served to give her some familiar comfort in a _very_ unfamiliar place. Not to mention some protection from the ghosts wandering eyes.

She tiptoed down the corridor, only vaguely remembering her way around, and came to find him fiddling with his suit which he'd now straightened back up. He glanced around when the floorboard creaked traitorously under Lydia's feet and she held back throwing an insult his way as he gave her a quick once-over. 

"Not what I woulda picked m'self," he said, grinning in such a way that it was clear he was teasing. "Y'not got anything more _revealing_ hidden away? _Cmon_ , yer a breather - live a little." 

_Who was he kidding, she could wear a million layers and she'd still be a damn catch_. It was a reality he really was trying to ignore - although it was hard considering he'd very willingly signed himself up for her constant company. If only she'd just _tolerate_ him a little bit maybe they'd be able to have some fun.

" _Unfortunately_ , I'm not trying to dress to your standards," she muttered, answering halfheartedly since she didn't have the energy to properly start an argument or entertain what was clearly his attempts to cause her discomfort for the sake of it. "So where is it you're dragging me along to? Let me _guess_ , some seedy, back-street strip club? I feel like that's your kind of scene."

He let out a bark of laughter. " _Seedy_? Ya sell me short, babes. Only the best quality of establishment for me," he paused then, twisting one of the many rings on his finger. "But I actually think ya might like this place. It's _real_ old and freaky. Just your kinda thing, I'm betting," he said, waving vaguely at her gothic attire.

"Old and freaky? That's what you've narrowed my tastes down to?"

" _Hey_ , ya said yes to me, didn'tcha? Musta liked _something_ ," he fired back, holding out his hand for her to take as an indication he was ready to get going. 

" _First of all_ , I technically never actually said yes. _Second of all_ , I did it because I didn't want my best friends to get exorcised. _But whatever floats your boat_ ," she sighed, staring warily at his grubby palm before taking a careful step forwards to grab it. The second her warm little hand wrapped around his own, the ghost pulled her unnecessarily close to him and then pulled them from the space and threw them in the direction of his target location.

***

Poof. 

They appeared seamlessly in the center of a narrow street, the twilight glow of the neitherworld dulled by towering buildings either side. Lydia was pleased to find herself slightly less disorientated that time around and could only hope that her tolerance to teleportation was building. Instantly, her eyes were spoilt for choice as she took in her new surroundings. Betelgeuse had brought them to a street reminiscent of something she would expect to see in a historical-drama based around plague-era London. The ground beneath her feet wasn't concrete like a regular, modern street but rather made up of trodden down hay, mud and animal waste which had dried to form a hard surface in the neitherworldian climate.

The towering buildings either side of her leaned inwards, almost touching eachother, and laundry lines extended from window to window. The houses themselves were made of exposed wooden beams and the walls were a mix of stone, clay and dried earth. It smelt vaguely of something rotten but the cloying aroma was mild enough that Lydia didn't feel the need to plug her nose. 

The most amazing thing about the street was the _people_. They walked past her carrying baskets of bread and other foods like they were still alive and following their daily routines. In fact, Lydia would've assumed Betelgeuse had simply dragged them into the past if the people weren't clearly deceased; boasting their injuries without shame. " _Wow_..." was all she could manage at first, feeling very out of place. "This is like something out of a _movie_."

The ghost grinned beside her, noting that she was still clutching onto his hand since her attention was elsewhere. "Nah, babes, it's better than some old movie. More accurate. This place has been the same for about six-hundred and fifty years," he snorted, watching her eyebrows shoot up. "It's period-accurate to the tiniest detail."

"And how are _you_ so sure?" she breathed, furrowing her brow and tearing her eyes away from the architecture to look at him; even more out of place than she was in his extravagant striped attire. It was then she noticed that her hand was still in his and she tugged it away quickly, wiping it on her skirt with a frown.

"'Cause that's about when I died, dip-shit. Been hangin' around this area since I first gotta outta the civil office after I kicked the bucket."

She turned her head, the math still not quite adding up. He seemed so... non-European. But if he'd died that long ago then that would mean...

"I'm English. Yeah. Technically," he sniffed, almost as if he could read her mind. "Although I mighta had some french blood or somethin' in me. Don't remember. _Don't care_."

She furrowed her brow, suppressing a smile as the image of Betelgeuse speaking perfect Queens-English popped into her head. "What's with the accent then? And the clothes?"

"I spent a lotta time in America when I finally had the freedom to travel around. The black plague was still runnin' rampant in Europe when I was haunting the living. Brought up some _bad_ memories, y'know. Plus, people ain't too fun to try scare when they're coughin' up their own blood and _already_ hallucinating."

They'd started walking as he talked and Lydia nodded along, still swept up by the wonder of being able to see a piece of history first hand. Thankfully, she didn't have to juggle the task of listening to Betelgeuse talk whilst taking in her surroundings for too long since he paused his history lesson, gently nudging her in the side and nodding towards a building slightly different from the others. "There's the place."

It looked almost the same as the other houses except the front had been extended outwards, there were windows and a small metal sign hung loosely above the door. It read ' _The Rose & Crown_' and there was a charming graphic of a crown being slowly overwhelmed by a growth of thorny roses painted onto the surface. 

"This looks too nice for you," Lydia said with distaste, suddenly upset at the knowlege that she was partially responsible for whaterver mischief he was up to. Although, she tried not to dwell on it too hard; it was a little to late for regret. 

“They've cleaned it up a lot since I last visited," was all the ghost ghost grunted out before pushing open the heavy wooden door. 

The inside was warmer than the pleasant ambience of the neitherworld and the lighting was dim and comfortable. It was large yet felt incredibly cosy thanks to the thick beams, low ceiling and large number of people packed in. There were lanterns hanging from every beam which help cast the room in a glow and further raised the temperature. The smell of beer and cigarette smoke bordered on overwhelming - infact it was rather similar to the smell Betelgeuse carried around himself except minus the earthy aroma of grave dirt and moss. 

It reminded her much of the hidden bars in New York which she'd always been told to stay away from by her father but had explored regardless. Some of her best memories came from wandering around New York unsupervised. She turned around to face the bar and caught sight of the barman before he spotted them, watching as he turned his head lazily to see who'd just entered. His face fell and he mouthed something that she couldn't hear over the hum of chatter, but by his shocked visage she could only assume it was a curse or exclamation of suprise.

Betel strolled up to the bar, slamming his arm down, on the wood and drew a great deal of satisfaction from the barmans apparent nervousness. _I've still got it_ he couldn't help but think. "Long time no see, _hermano_ ," the ghost grinned, peering longingly only for a moment at the wall of alcohol behind the bar. "Say, does John still hang around here, by any chance?"

"Betel! It's- it's been a while. Uh, John? John Allen? Short, blonde bloke?" 

"You know it."

The barman scrunched his face up, clearly fighting an internal battle based off of information Lydia was not privy to, before hanging his head and nodding slowly.

"Y-yeah, _he does_. Upstairs. He still stays upstairs."

"Excellent! Quick. _Easy. I like it. Thanks for the help,_ pal," the ghost chuffed, then turned his attention to Lydia. He nodded once at the barstool, a silent indication that she should sit down, and then turned to face the barman once again. "Get the kid a drink and keep an eye on her while im gone. If I come back and find that _anyone_ has laid a _finger_ on her, I'll fuck them _and_ you up."

At that, the ghost the ghost stood up straight, dusting off his front, before strolling off towards a back door Lydia hadn't previously spotted. The barman remained stood, staring off in his direction with a sickly look of shock and regret on his face. He slowly registred what Betel had said and turned to Lydia, shaking some composure back into himelf. "I- uh- what d'you want to drink, little lady?"

He had a strong, deep cockney accent that sounded rather unnatural with fear laced in. He was a tall guy who was well built with a strong jaw, short-trimmed beard and suprisingly bright eyes for someone who was supposed to be dead. It was clear he was the kind of person who could easily hold his own in a fight which made his discomfort caused by Betel all the more concerning. Clearly the ghost had a reputation down in the neitherworld.

"Just a water is fine," she said softly, watching with a frown as he got to it immeditately. "Sorry about him," Lydia added, feeling very much responsible for whatever had happened. She didn't have a clue who _John Allen_ was or what history Betel may have had with him but clearly the brief encounter had disturbed the barman. They both knew Betelgeuse had no good intentions.

He looked up in surprise at her soft apology, his lips managing to turn up into a smile. "Betel? Oh, don't- don't worry about it. He's always been a little..."

"...bit of an asshole?"

The man smiled wider, letting out a sigh of relief as he realised Lydia was on his side and had no intention of repeating anything he said to the notorious poltergeist. "Damn right, he has. I'm William Foxx. What about you, miss? Got a name?" he asked, placing down the glass of water before Lydia and leaning forwards on both forearms, suddenly very interested in the girl Betel had brought in. The self proclaimed ghost with the most was somewhat of a lone wolf and William had only ever seen the man with a girl if she charged by the hour. This girl certainly didn't look like some random streetwalker.

"Lydia. Lydia Deetz."

"Ah, well it's a pleasure to meet ya, miss Deetz," Willaim grinned, holding his hand out for her to shake which she did without hesitation, easily lulled by his friendly nature. Lydia jumped, however, when William made a noise of suprise and jerked his hand back, staring at it in disbelief. A look of horrified-yet-amazed realisation slowly took over his rugged features. 

"You're alive!?" he hissed after a long moment of silence, rubbing at his palm where the warmth of Lydia's skin was lingering. It'd been _centuries_ since he'd felt real warmth and to say the feel of a breathers skin was a shock would be an understatement. 

"Yeah..?" Lydia said slowly, wondering what she'd done wrong and internally praying she hadn't hurt the man by accident. The incredulous look of awe on William's face told her he wasn't in pain but rather just blown away. Something clicked in her and she sighed, offering him a half-smile. "I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"

" _No._ Certainly not," William confirmed in a low voice, blinking several times to make sure he wasn't just hallucinating. He glanced back over towards the door that Betelgeuse had dissapeared through and chewed on his lip, running through his thoughts. " _Shit_ , kid... Betel dragged ya down here? Aye, I'll call a caseworker up _right now_ to get you some help. Just sit tight, yeah?"

He stood up straight and went to make a grab for a very, _very_ old phone (although it still looked severely out of place against the truly ancient architecture) which was mounted on the wall. Before he could pick it up, Lydia started and made a grab for the man's shirt, stopping him in his tracks. "Hey! No, no, no, no, no, _don't do that_. Juno already know I'm here and Betel would just get angry at you. Plus he could think I asked you to get me help and then we'd both be in trouble," she hissed quickly, her breathing picking up as panic seeped in. The last thing she wanted was the kind man to get a beating just because she wasn't being careful with where she stuck her hands. Plus, Betel had been nearly tolerable and the last thing she wanted was to earn his ire. Thankfully, the mention of the caseworker's name was enough to make William pause and he turned back around slowly, his brow furrowing. "Juno?"

"Yeah, she's a caseworker, right?"

" _Yeah_. Yeah, she is. How'd you know her?"

Lydia sighed in relief, sitting back down now that she had William's attention, secure in the knowlege he wouldn't make another dash for the phone. "I don't know her _personally_. I'm friends with a couple of ghosts and she was their caseworker. And she was also Betel's boss... he's talked about her a couple of times. She knows about our whole arrangement, I think. Atleast he seems pretty certain she does."

It dawned on William finally just who the mysterious girl sat before him was and he leaned in close, his eyes roving over her in a curious manner devoid of any lechery. Lydia still shrunk under his scrutiny and took a sip of her water to try re-moisten her drying mouth. "You're... you're _the_ girl, ain't you? The breather girl that he married to get out," he says finally, eyes flitting quickly down to her hand and the landing on the ring. " _Shit_... sorry, Lydia. I heard rumours about Betelgeuse's whole _escape_ fisaco. Didn't think the bastard had _actually_ pulled it off, though. I shoulda realised you were the woman right away, although I guess it didn't click in my head 'cause you're so young. Younger than I'd imaged, at least, your poor thing. _That slimy bastard_..."

Lydia nodded slowly, taking another sip of water before placing it down on the bar and smiling. Word spread fast in the Neitherworld, it seemed. "He didn't pull it off the _first_ time. Came back for round two thought. I though't I'd gotten rid of him for good..."

"You fed him to a sandworm, right?"

"That was the work of one of my ghost friends, Barbara," she smiled, remembering fondly the moment after where they'd all shared a hug of relief. She was glad the woman was getting some credit for her work. 

William leaned forwards further, catching Lydia's nostalgic smile and matching it with his own. "This Barbara of yours sounds like a badass."

"Yeah, she is. I miss her."

Willaim took note of the way her smile dropped a little and gave her an apolgetic pt on the shoulder. "If I could help ya I would. You seem like a nice kid. Too nice for him." He shrugged as Lydia took another swig of water and straightened up a little. "Luckily you seem important to his freedom so I guess you're lucky to have that leverage over him. You're not completely helpess. Plus, ya seem like a brave girl. Any other breather should be scared shitless by what you see down here in the neitherworld. I know _I_ was when I first died. And nothing used to scare me."

Lydia nodded, his comment about her having leverage over the ghost easing a knot of nervousness that she didn't even know she had. "I suppose you're right. He's- he's not been _too_ bad so far."

William gave her a look; one of disbelief.

"Well, _fine_. He's been _awful_. But I also know he's capable of a lot worse."

"You've got a point there. He's got a reputation. And for good reason too-"

William stopped speaking abruptly when he heard the back door creak open and he straightened his back, glancing behind him as Betel came marching through. The loud chatter in the bar dropped in volume ever so slightly. His hair was, once again, a little wilder than it had been and his hands were stained ever so slightly red by a substance Lydia was too scared to put a name to but otherwise he looked like his usual, smug self. His eyes narrowed when he saw William stood before Lydia, his jaw clenched from where he'd slammed his mouth shut.

"I said keep an _eye_ on her, not tell her yer life story," the ghost grunted. 

Lydia was glad to note that he didn't actually sound irritated; probably still riding a high from whatever _horrible_ thing he'd probably been doing. William, on the other hand, remained stood straight and cleared his throat, not quite reading the ghosts tone of voice accurately. "Sorry, Betel. She's- uh- I got her a drink an' everything."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the ghost waved him off dismissively, turning his attention to Lydia who was looking significantly less happy now he'd made his return. Tough crowd. "C'mon, babes, time to split. Get outta here. Vamoose," he said with a grin, jerking his head in a 'get up' motion towards the front entrance. Surprisingly, Lydia's face fell and she gave William a side-eyed look of sadness. " _Already_? I haven't even been here for half an hour yet," she said quietly under her breath, arguing but not _really_ arguing. 

Seriously? First she was desperate to go home and now she didn't want to leave the bar? He wasn't sure if this was a win for him or not. Probably not considering she'd only been happy because he'd left her alone. To talk to some _other guy_ , no less. He couldn't keep up with the kid. Still, he wasn't _supposed_ to be keeping up with her. She was supposed to be keeping up with _him_. "We came here cause _I_ had a job to do incase you've forgotten, babe."

Lydia grimaced but stood up slowly regardless, hastily finishing the final gulp of her water before smiling at the bartender. "Do I need to...pay or anything," she asked, nodding at the empty glass. ‘ _Does Betelgeuse need to pay_ ’ was what she was really asking but she was careful not to word it as such with him looking right behind her. To both Lydia and Betel's relief, the bartender shook his head with a smile, taking back the glass and setting it down to clean. "Not at all, Lydia. It was just a water and even if it wasn't I'd put it on the house. It was a pleasure talkin' to ya. Just..." he paused, making brief eye contact with Betelgeuse, "...look after yourself."

Lydia smiled wider than she ever had which thoroughly caught Betelgeuse's attention and made his stomach swirl ever so slightly - something he chose to firmly ignore. "You too! _Thank you_ for the decent company," she said lightly yet sincerely, overjoyed from the small victory of making a friend. Already she was realizing that people down in the neitherworld (with the exception of her ghostly captor) were far nicer than any of the living folk she'd come across before. 

Unfortunately, Betelgeuse had decided things were talking to long and grabbed onto Lydia's wrist, half-dragging her towards the exit before she could fit another word in. The second they were through the door and out into the hazy light of the street, she wrenched her arm from his grip and rubbed at it with a frown. "You're such a _dick_ ," she muttered, noticing the vague red handprint left on her wrist that was residue from whatever substance Betel had on his hand rather than from where he'd been gripping her. She stared at it distastefully before rubbing it away. "What- what were you even doing that whole time? I hope this isn't what I think it is."

He paused, wondering what she meant, but then grinned as he realised he'd forgot to clean himself up properly. He juiced himself completely clean - if only to ease his wife's conscience (because he was _such_ a gentleman) - before shrugging her questions off. "Visitin' an old pal o' mine. We go _way_ back. Been a little while since we _caught up_ , if y'catch my drift."

"Well, it was an awfully short conversation," she grumbled, watching uncomfortably as he cleaned himself up. She knew he was obviously bullshitting her (if only because she knew he was prone to talking for hours on end therefore if he had simply been having a conversation he’d have been gone for far longer) but knew there was very little point pushing him. His business was his business and she'd probably sleep better not knowing why he was so feared down in the world of the dead.

He turned to her finally, holding out his now-clean - or as clean as _he_ could manage - palm. "C'mon. Gotta chase up those fuckin' saps for my _rent money_ ," the ghost said, rolling his eyes at the thought of dealing with his roomates. It was one of the few things he hadn't missed whilst trapped in the model. Sure, he was lonely and powerless but atleast he didn't have to _unwillingly socialize_ with common, law-abiding denizens of the neitherworld.

Lydia didn't hesitate as much this time, gingerly placing her warm hand in his and wincing as she anticipated the pull she was becoming familiar with. They appeared smoothly back in the living area that they'd left from and this time Lydia didn't even slightly feel dizzy. As it turned out, she was acclimating rather quickly. "Don't wander off anywhere yer not supposed to and do not - _I mean do fucking not_ \- touch any of my beer in the fridge," the ghost warned her. As if she'd willingly touch any of his drinks. Knowing him, they'd probably been there for centuries. There'd be no chance of her disobeying that second order.

The first one however... he'd said not to wander anywhere she wasn't supposed to but how did he expect her to comply with that when he hadn't actually set any boundaries. Her gaze drifted naturally the door which she was certain lead to the outside. There was a vast number of locks all the way down but by the looks of it none of them were done up. A rookie error? Misplaced trust? Both?

Hell, if the door had been left unlocked then, as far as Lydia was concerned, that was an _invitation_. It wasn't like she'd go far. She physically couldn't from what she'd seen of the outside. It was either stay close to the roadhouse or plummet into the void. _Ah fuck it_ , she thought. The asshole could talk and talk and talk. She'd have enough time to snoop around a bit, for sure.

Lydia tip-toe-jogged over to the door and opened it with ease, a triumphant grin spreading over her soft face. That grin was soon replaced by slack-jawed wonder, however, as she got her first real eyeful of the outside. The first thing her eye was drawn to was the moon; an _impossibly_ large sphere in the sky. It seemed so close she was sure her fingers would brush its surface if she were to stand up on the very tips of her toes. It begged the question - where was she _really_? If the neitherworld had its own moons then did that mean it was a separate planet as opposed to an alternate plane of earth? Her brain was telling her that was far too wild of a concept but after living with ghosts one tended to ignore what the logical side of their mind suggested.

She tore her eyes away from the moon and instead dared to venture closer to the edge of the island which she'd only assumed dropped off into nothingness before. Now, as she looked over the drop and peered down, she realized there was actually a vast expanse of sand below her. Although, it still was a very very large drop. It looked like it could be almost half a mile’s drop down. _God_ , she was stood on the edge of a floating island on an unfamiliar planet all alone save for an uncomfortably lecherous ghost and she still wasn't scared? Lydia decided she'd rather just blame it on adrenaline otherwise she was sure she'd stress about the possibility she had genuinely lost her mind.

As she went to take a curious step closer, her booted toes hit a particularly large rock and she cocked her head at it, smiling softly. Lydia bent down, quickly scooping it into her hands, before throwing it lazily over the edge. A natural, very human response upon being faced with a ledge of indiscernible height; throw something off of it. 

She watched with raised brows as the rock fell... and fell... _and fell some more_... and then it finally hit the distant ground. She could barely make it out as it settled in the unnaturally yellow sand however she didn't have time to properly peer down as, immediately upon impact, the sand where it had landed exploded with life and Lydia saw the open mouth of a creature emerge at a surprising speed. And it was heading right up towards her. 

Before the natural response of leaping back out of the way even had a chance to take root in her brain, she was being pulled backwards by a pair of large, increasingly familiar hands and she was moved just in time for a gargantuan sandworm to tear up past the ledge inches from her face, hanging in the air momentarily before arching and heading straight back down towards the desert below. 

" _Fuckin' idiot_ ," she heard Betelgeuse hiss in her hear, holding her tight as the worm’s body - a mile long by the looks of it - fell away back down into the depths. He was panting despite not needing to breathe, the knowledge that Lydia had already almost tasted death after a mere _day_ in his world driving him crazy. His irritation was tickled further when he noted that she didn't even look remotely spooked it rather enthralled.

"Wow," she breathed out finally, too shocked to even register the fact that a pair of striped arms were still wrapped around her middle. "That one was _big_."

"Big enough to kill ya, dumbass," he growled into her ear, loosening his arms in favor of spinning her around to face him. "Been here one whole day and you're already tryna off yerself?"

She seemed surprised almost to see him so close - having been to distracted by the worm to realize fully that she'd been pulled away - and his features softened. At first he'd assumed Lydia had made a break for it when he'd seen the open door and then he'd made a second assumption that she was on some sort of suicide mission when he'd watched her inch her way towards the edge. Now it was clear she was just curious. Fucking _stupid_ , sure, but curious. 

Her face fell into an apologetic grimace and she pulled back out of his grip, closing in on herself slightly and bowing her head. "Sorry... I just...," she paused, looking up past his head and aiming her gaze at the moon, "I just cant believe this place is _real_. Barbara and Adam always made out that the neitherworld was _dark_ and _horrible_. But in reality its like... some crazy, awesome fever dream."

She noted the way Betelgeuse's nasty snarl melted into something uncharacteristically softer and took that as a hint that she was safe to back away from him. She ran right back over to the edge and peered down once again, wondering how on earth such a huge creature could hide beneath the sands. The ghost groaned at her apparent eagerness to place herself in harms way and followed close behind her, his hands hovering by her hips; reads to grab her if she decided to do something stupid. "Aren't they supposed to live on Saturn? The sandworm things?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder. 

He was glad that her curiosity currently had the one up over her hatred for him and figured this could be a good chance to try and earn some of her trust. If she was in a questioning mood then he'd put himself into an answering one. 

"Yup. They kick around here too, though," he said simply, watching her chew on her lower lip in thought.

"And where _is_ here?"

"Fuck if I know. I never question it too much or I'll drive m'self crazy. All I do know is the nasty fuckers live where there's sand. They don't usually cause an issue unless ya alert them. Like you just did with that rock," he grunted, narrowing his eyes at that. _Shit_ , she really had been close to losing her pretty little head.

"Sorry about that," Lydia said half-genuinely, preoccupied with the task of safely lowering herself onto the floor so she could let her legs hang over the edge. "This place is so cool, though. I couldn't help it." She glanced up at the other floating islands that were dotted around and connected to eachother by the crazy, rollercoaster-like floating highways. "I still don't really understand why you'd ever want to leave so bad."

He snorted at that, earning a tiny glare from her. "Oh, I gotta _whole_ list o' reasons. Shit, where do I even start." He frowned, juicing up a pre-lit smoke out of habit as he prepared to speak. "Well... first off 'cause the rules of this place are _rat shit_. I'm not a rules guy. We're all _dead_ \- everyone spent their whole miserable lives followin' rules and I personally think anarchy would suit the afterlife much better," he grunted matter-of-factly above her. She turned her head up at him at that, genuinely interested in what the bastard had to say for once. "I made some shitty choices that I don't even remember makin' when I was alive and the rules make it so I was expected to suffer fer all eternity in death... that didn't sit right with me."

"Shitty choices...? Like what?" Lydia asked, not quite following him; she felt like she was missing some key context. The ghost sighed at her questioning before chucking the barely-touched cigarette over his shoulder and onto the ground behind him. He began to loosen his tie and work the top buttons of his shirt open and Lydia widened her eyes, shuffling back cautiously. "What are you..."

Her sudden nervousness melted away into something very different the second he pulled his collar back to expose his neck to her. 

"Oh."

A rope mark. 

Albeit faded but there non-the-less. "Shitty choises," he clarified, grinning at her suddenly saddened face. Someone was _pitying_ him? That was a new one. Especially coming from someone who'd he'd only ever wronged.

Despite the ghosts very true observation regarding the fact that he’d only ever caused Lydia trouble, her heart couldn't help but crack a tiny bit as she remembered something Otho had said a long time ago. " _Civil service_. That's what you had to do."

"Ding, ding. You got it. _Smart girl_ ," he grinned, still seemingly unbothered by what anyone else would consider a very vulnerable confession. Infact he was rather intrigued by just how quickly the goth’s emotions could shift; it was _jarring_ to say the least. 

"I'm sorry..." she said quietly. She couldn't help but feel awful for him - even though he was an all-around piece of shit. The only link she had to the topic of suicide was her own experience and she remembered very vividly how _empty_ and _lonely_ she had felt leading up to her near-attempt. How could she _not_ sympathize? In vast contrast to Lydia, Betelgeuse snorted before laughing loudly, and shrugged her off. "Ah, don't _apologize_. I got over that shit a long time ago, babe. I mean, the whole civil service bullshit sucked as well but I got over that too. Obviously," he said, flashing the golden band on his finger with a leer as he said the latter part. 

"How? Isn't civil service meant to be an eternal punishment? You said it yourself."

He chuckles at that, deciding she was in a trusting enough mood that it was safe for him to slowly lower himself down besides her on the ledge. Lydia surprisingly didn’t flinch away as he matched her positioning but she did immediately regret her question since it had seemed to act as some sort of an ego boost based off of the way he was grinning. "Funny story, _actually_ ," he started, chewing on another fresh cigarette that he'd juiced up at some point. "I fucked somethin' up along the way when I was trying to off myself. Died the _slow, suffocatin' way_ instead of a quick snap. That meant I had time to regret what I did and _therefore_ made it so the question of m' suicide was up in the air. I was placed in a more merciful position under Juno," he explained. 

Lydia noted that he used his hands alot when speaking; something which only served to draw her in further. "I had time to read and shit. I kept an eye on legal documents as well as my own handbook. Took about two fuckin' centuries but eventually I'd gotten handy with the ol' juice and the way it worked; although apparently I had a little extra in me than the average stiff as it was. Beyond that, I'd gotten even handier with finding loopholes," he grinned, wiggling his fingers for added effect. "Turns out bio-exorcism is _technically_ a civil service since I'd be helpin' out new souls."

He paused to fully take in the way Lydia was watching him, devoid of anything but acute concentration on what he was saying. It was a little endearing really and he was glad he was managing to keep a grip on ‘curious, trusting Lydia’ instead of letting her slide back into ‘angry, hormonal, bitter Lydia’. "I mistook my privileges as a bio-exorcist for freedom and got a lil' too ballsy. Ended up gettin' into some trouble. The guy in charge of my trial - some piece o' shit named McDowell - already hated me because I'd wormed my way out of eternal servitude so it was a biased trial. I mean, _sure_ I wasn't exactly polite to the fucker but I don't think that warranted him sentencin' me to six hundred years in that shitty attic," he snorted, pausing to take a drag of the smoke. "I realized the only way I'd be truly free was if I got out from under the bureaucracy's fat thumb."

"And then I come in," Lydia interrupted, her tone dry yet lips curled up into the ghost of a smile.

"And then you come in," he echoed.

"And has it been worthit?" she asked, her tone morphing into something _ever so slightly_ bitter.

He shifted his position, grimacing as he realized her rare moment of calm was coming to an end. " _Well_ , I mean I dunno yet, babe. Ya keep stalling me." 

He heard her exhale in a strange sort of sarcastic-exasperated laugh and he started to do his buttons back up, hiding the faint rope mark and thus closing off the serious part of their conversation. He felt a sliver of regret seep in in regards to his opening up - not because he was embarrassed but rather because he knew she might see it as a weakness to exploit in the future. Although, something told him she was too nice of a person to do such a thing.

"Well, _I'm sorry_. Unlike you, I didn't have two hundred years to plan and prepare," she bit back defensively, pushing herself up and off of the ledge into a standing position. He just cackled in response, watching with a half-grin-half-grimace as she made her own way back into the roadhouse. 

Welp, there went the moment. Although, he couldn't exactly blame her. The topic of her abduction was fairly fresh and he wasn't sure what he'd expected to come from rubbing it in the way he had. 

"Damn piece of work," he grumbled, lazily flicking his cigarette over the edge. He watched as the sand shifted where it had landed but remained otherwise undisturbed; the tiny butt was too small to warrant an appearance from one of the beasts. He hopped up, then, and slipped into the house after Lydia, closing the door and locking every single bolt into place. She'd already slipped into her room by that point and Betel turned his attention to the healthy stack of bills he'd collected from his roommates.

He'd expected a fight from them but they'd coughed up almost immediately, seemingly _pleased to see him_. That had been a wild concept indeed; an uncomfortable one too. Although, it had meant that they'd paid him exactly the amount he needed without fuss so he could only count it as a win. Their side of the roadhouse had been disgustingly clean and it had sparked his memory; reminding him that he needed to atleast try and make the place livable for its new, breathing inhabitant. He knew he'd end up turning the place into a dump again within a week but hell, it was the fucking thought that counted, dammit. 

He juiced the money off into his room where it would remain safe and shucked his jacket, placing his grubby claws on his hips. He had a _lot_ of work to do. The place was a complete shit-hole. Thankfully, he was sure he'd peeved Lydia off enough that she wouldn't make an appearance until it was all done. With that thought in mind, he got to work.


	8. two friendly faces

Unlike the previous morning, Lydia woke up on her own without influence from any loud, careless poltergeists. She hadn't remembered falling asleep but she _had_ remembered practically running back into the house after her and Betel's conversation had turned tense before flinging herself into the warm comfort of the guest bed.

She wasn't _angry_ at the ghost so much as she was angry at _herself_. She'd... enjoyed the day? Well, perhaps _enjoyed_ was the wrong word but there was no doubt that it could've gone worse. The neitherworld was everything she ever could've hoped for and even the imagery from her wildest dreams didn't hold a candle the magical things that lay in the land of the dead.

It was part of the reason she'd found herself so easily lulled into a half-pleasant conversation with the ghoul keeping her hostage. The magic of his world had her all softened up and willing and she had found her cold exterior very difficult to keep consistent.

That was until he reminded her of why she was there, of course. It was only natural that the despicable ghost aimed a jab her way eventually, reminding her of why exactly she was supposed to hate him. 

Despite that, she found herself waking up less angry than she had been when she'd drifted off. The surprisingly pleasant resting period had cleared her mind and left her feeling far less fragile and irrational. That was still subject to change, though, depending on whether Betelgeuse ticked her off again.

She was scheming up ways to avoid him for the rest of the day when her stomach cramped painfully and unexpectedly, followed up by a loud rumble. It was then she was reminded that she hadn't eaten since before they left from the attic and had only had a glass of water at the bar to drink. Whilst Lydia probably wouldn't say no if the chance for a quick, easy death presented itself, starvation wasn't an appealing concept and so she placed her priorities on finding something of sustenance to eat.

She pulled herself from beneath the sheets, wincing as she waited for the frigid morning air to hit her bare legs, but relaxed as she remembered that the morning chill was no longer something she needed to worry about. Lydia didn't want to risk a teasing jab being thrown her way (the ghost was _already_ irritating enough) so she stood before the tiny mirror in her room and armed herself with her hairbrush, slowly beginning to work the build-up of tangles out of her mane. She also made the effort to wipe down her face and apply some of the products she'd packed in her bag and brought from home; the strange climate in the underworld was beginning to fuck with her skin and acne was something she did _not_ want to have to stress about on top of everything else.

With that job done, she finally clicked the lock on the door and slid cautiously out into the hallway. She wasn't going to bother with getting changed yet; too set on locating something to calm the rumbling in her empty stomach. She felt secure enough in the oversized black tee that hung down to just above her knees - complete modest wasn't exactly her biggest priority at that moment. Her poorly furled body was certainly reminding her of that.

Thankfully, the door to the main room was wide open - an invitation - and she was quick to poke her head in the doorway. Her eyes widened in surprise when she was greeted by the sight of the room looking noticeably different to how it had when she'd last seen it.

"You've cleaned up?" she said as she approached the space, the phrase sounding more like a question as it left her lips. To be fair, 'cleaned up' was probably an inaccurate analysis. Perhaps 'made it _almost_ livable' was a better suited label for his efforts. The floor seemed mostly clear of broken glass; enough so that Lydia could venture through the doorway without having to worry about slicing her bare feet open. There were still beer cans littering the table but they looked fresh and there was far fewer of them then there had been previously. Either way, it was out of character for the ghost and she was suspicious as to whether this was him trying to work an angle of some sort.

Betelgeuse perked up at the sound of her voice, turning his head in her direction and grinning at the sight of her slightly shocked face. He was slung over the couch enjoying the freedom the only way a man of his nature knew how; with booze and nicotine. She sighed at the sight of his dusty visage shifting to face her, the reek of toxic masculinity oozing off of him in waves. She suddenly began to miss Adam's gentle presence and awkward attitude.

"I'm not the only one, _apparently_ ," Betel replied after a long moment of looking her up and down like the sleazy piece of shit he was, that leering smile widening as she ventured further into the room and thus further into his line of view. Lydia merely rolled her eyes and muttered, "don't be gross," before her stomach growled loudly and she was reminded of her goal.

"Do you have any food here?" she asked, approaching the kitchen area she'd spotted before as if it were drawing her in like a magnet. "If you want to keep me alive I need to _eat_..."

She didn't wait for an answer as she made her way over to the kitchen, wrinkling her nose up as she discovered the grimy state it was in. Betelgeuse's attempt at cleaning seemingly hadn't extended past the five-metre radius around his couch. "Nothing you'd like I don't think," he grunted, sitting up and adjusting himself as he watched her float into the room opposite. "Unless yer into salted crickets," he added when she pulled open a random draw and discovered his stash. "In which case, help yerself." The image of Lydia chowing down on salted bugs drifted across his mind and he was sure it would send him into overdrive. He frowned sulkily when she slid the drawer shut.

"I'll pass on _that_ ," she muttered, watching in discomfort as his eyes followed her around as if they were glued to her. In truth, salted bugs probably tasted rather nice but there was no way she'd try the exotic snack in front of _him_ of all people. "Although if you have anything more _normal_ I'll take it... I'd rather not starve down here."

He sniffed as she turned down his favorite delicacy and shrugged it off. _You win some, you lose some_. "Name a food. I'll juice it up - easy as that," he grinned, sitting up all the way finally as he raised a brow at her. "Go into _detail_ if ya like. It's been a while since I've tried this so the more specific the better, babes. Take it away - I'm at yer service."

" _Any_ food?"

"Any food."

She paused at that, wracking her brains hard. A distant memory from New York popped into her conscience; images of her and her mother eating waffles as they walked down Broadway and gazed up at the billboards, discussing which show they'd get tickets for in the future. "Waffles," she said out loud with a distant smile. " _Warm_. With butter... and _syrup_ all over."

Betelgeuse held back an amused snort at her slightly childish request - only resisting the urge to poke fun at her because he suspected there was a nostalgia factor to the meal - and juiced a plate directly into her hands. A warm waffle topped with a slab of butter appeared on the ceramic surface as requested and a stream of syrup appearing midair poured itself into each square. She jumped as everything appeared and fought to hide down a look of awe - if only to avoid stroking the ghosts already inflamed ego.

It _smelled_ good. It _looked_ even better. She was impressed. Now all she had to do was sit down and eat the damn thing. The only issue was that there was nowhere to seat herself so she could get tucked in. Well, except for the other spot on the couch, of course. She eyed it warily and then looked up at Betelgeuse with an uneasy expression. He rolled his eyes and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling as he scratched a patch of moss on his neck. "I ain't gonna _bite_ , babes." He rolled his head to the side, locking eyes with her and snorting at her continued silence. "Unless that's somethin' yer _into_ , of course?"

" _God_ , you are impossible," Lydia gritted out sharply, her patience and wariness snapping as irritation returned to her in full swing. She ignored his bark of laughter and bee-lined for the empty space, sitting down yet shifting as far as she possibly could away from him. It was almost comical, the way she was huddling herself against the arm of the couch.

She soon forgot her discomfort when she began to tuck into the long-overdue meal and couldn't even begin to hold back a satisfied groan as thick, warm syrup aided the perfectly crafted waffle in its journey down her starved throat.

The little noise of satisfaction she made went _straight_ into the ghosts lower stomach and he shifted his positioning, grimacing to himself as he pointedly ignored the sensation. The fact she was sat there with her hair neatly brushed out in only a stupid, oversized tee - unknowingly driving him slightly stir crazy - certainly didn't help. _That little bitch_.

"'Good?" he asked after clearing his throat loudly; an attempt to dislodge the weird lump that had grown there. She realized quickly that she'd slipped up in maintaining her mask of irritation again and pushed the traitorous look of contentment off her face. "Yeah. Yeah, it's alright," she replied stiffly, ignoring his heavy gaze and instead fixed her own firmly on her nearly clear plate. There was no point lying to him. Her stomach had stopped grumbling and the food had disappeared within a minute which told him enough. He _almost_ felt bad for accidentally starving her but the weird satisfaction he got from her having to ask him for help made up for it.

Once Lydia was done with her food, she set the plate aside and shifted uncomfortably. Her hunger was sated but that only brought new personal issues to the forefront of her mind; namely the need for a damn shower. Betelgeuse certainly didn't look like the sort to have a functioning bathroom but there were so many rooms in the roadhouse and she could only hope. She sighed before turning her gaze back towards him.

"Quick question?"

"Shoot, babes."

"Do you have a bathroom anywhere here?"

***

Betelgeuse had led her further into the maze-like building than she'd been yer and she was thankful when they _finally_ stopped at a door; Lydia had been attempting to mentally remember her way around and she feared if they turned another corner she'd officially lose her place and spend the rest of the day wandering around, trying to find her room.

He opened up the door, clicking his fingers and setting the lights aglow himself as opposed to flicking the light switch. Lydia had initially been relieved to hear him say he was sure there was a bathroom _somewhere_ but that relief melted away when she was faced with the sight of it. It was filthy - there was a significant layer of grime on every single surface (even the ceiling - Lydia wasn't even sure how that was _possible_ ) and she seriously doubted that the taps were functional.

"I uh... don't use it too much. The dead don't... need to... never mind, just-" he flicked his wrist and suddenly the room was spotless; even more so than her bathroom back in winter river and that was _saying something_ because Delia was a serious neat-freak. She perked up as the grime melted into nothing, the concept of a warm shower painfully inviting. She was used to the rather unhealthy habit of washing daily and going without for the few days she'd already been in the land of the dead had been taking its toll on her.

"Thank you," she said hurriedly, already beginning to shove the ghost out the door. He let himself get shooed off by the tiny girl and merely raised an amused brow when the door slammed and clicked shut inches from his face. He seriously contemplated going incorporeal to phase through the door and hang around her invisible but decided against torturing himself like that. Another time, perhaps.

Lydia had quickly found out that the water there was surprisingly high in both pressure and temperature and was too relieved to even consider the possibility that the ghost would use his powers to mess with her privacy. She'd practically thrown herself under the scorching stream and relished in the sensation of two days worth of grime being steamed off of her skin and out of her hair. She hadn't brought any shampoo or scrub with her but that could be dealt with another time; just the water was enough for her.

After about twenty minutes she came to the realization that she'd have to get out eventually and if she didn't Betel might come knocking. She already knew he had a habit of ignoring the concept of a lock so she reluctantly stepped out from under the water and pat herself dry with one of the striped towels she'd found hanging on a rack. The mix of the dry warmth of the neitherworld and humidity leaking from the shower meant she dried herself quickly and still stayed warm enough to be comfortable. She hadn't brought a change of clothes and so simply dropped the huge shirt back over her frame before slipping out of the bathroom.

She couldn't see Betelgeuse initially and frowned ever so slightly, turning back quickly to turn the bathroom light off and shut the door quietly. Without her guide, she'd have to rely on her memory to find her way back. At that, she pulled up her rough mental map of the roadhouse and began making her through the winding corridors. She went to round one of the many corners but jumped half out of her skin when she collided with a large mass which she _assumed_ was Betel. She'd collided nose-first and staggered back, eyes still shut as she rubbed at her already-sore face.

She only snapped her eyes open when a voice that was most definitely not Betelgeuse began to spout words of concern. "Oh! I apologize, mon chéri! Are you okay?"

The stranger spoke in a strong, barely intelligible french accent and, upon finally glancing up, Lydia discovered that she'd walked face-first into a _skeleton_. An animated, _talking_ skeleton with a thin moustache wearing clothes at that. His eye sockets seemed to move fluidly as if they weren't formed from bone and they were currently pulled up into an expression of remorseful anxiety.

After a long moment of stunned silence, she snapped herself out of her daze and cleared her throat. "You're- you're not Betel," she breathed, finding a sentence rather hard to form thanks to both her throbbing nose and surprise.

The skeleton let out a humourless bark of laughter at that and his bony skull twisted into an impossible smile. " _No_ , thankfully I am _not_... But who are _you_ , petit fille?"

She frowned, bringing her hand back up to face to massage away the lingering pain. "I'm seventeen," she said under her breath, not actually annoyed by his assumption that she was a child (she couldn't blame him; she was awfully short) but rather just entranced by his charming nature. "My name is Lydia. I'm- uh, I'm Betel's-"

"-Oh! _You're the breather_! The one the big bully married," came an excited second voice suddenly, cutting her off. Lydia jumped again and only then did she notice the arachnid perched on the shoulder of the Frenchman. If talking skeletons hadn't been enough to give any other breather a heart attack, the pink, rat-sized talking spider surely would've been.

The spider chuckled at Lydia's startled visage and scuttled out from the crook of the skeleton's neck/spine and into better view. "You poor thing, you're so gorgeous," she fawned in a distinctive, heavy New York accent. The throbbing pain in Lydia's face had started to finally fade and she lowered her hand, re-regulating her heartbeat as a light flush came over her thanks to the Spider's complement. "Word spread fast, huh," she breathed out, her eyes still wide in childish awe.

"'E told us about you 'imself, mon ami," the skeleton said with a smile aimed at the arachnid on his shoulder. "More speci-fi-cally not to disturb you if we came across you."

"Which is rich coming from him," the spider added chirpily.

"I don't mind talking to you!" Lydia said quickly, smiling u at them both. It was awfully nice to be presented with two friendly faces in the roadhouse. The reassurance that it wasn't just Betel she was stuck with was certainly comforting. "I mean, I'm the one who bumped into you first... you're his roommates, right?" she asked in a hopeful tone.

"Were more tenants than roommates, honey," the spider smiled, "I'm ginger and this bonehead is Jacques."

"It's nice to meet you," Lydia said a little awkwardly, grasping Jacques politely outstretched hand and shaking it despite the unnatural sensation of his bony fingers clasping her own. "A couple of friendly faces around here is exactly what I need, actually."

"Ah, I am _sure_ it is. Well, you can come to talk to us any time, ami," Jacques said with a sympathetic half-smile. "Zis place is a maze at the best of times but... if you want to find us just walk until the floor gets cleaner and the decoration gets _nicer_ , yes?"

Lydia couldn't help but laugh at that, only freezing when she heard a door open behind her. She turned halfway around to see Betel strolling through with a face that soured when he caught sight of Ginger and Jacques. "The fuck did I say to you guys 'bout bothering her," he grumbled, glaring at them through dark eyes. "Come on, babes. Been lookin' for you. Thought ya mighta ran off for the sandworms on another _suicide mission_."

Lydia narrowed her eyes and ignored the slight twinge of hurt she felt as he brought up her suicidal history so flippantly. "I was looking for you _actually_. And they're not bothering me." She smiled back up at the pair warmly. "They're actually very sweet."

"Yeah, yeah, _good for them_ ," the ghost grunted, throwing them another glare - daring for them to make a comment - before tugging Lydia towards him and nodding down the hallway as an indication to get walking. "It was nice talking to you guys," she said over her shoulder, raising her free hand in a small waving gesture. "Ze pleasure was _all_ ours, miss Lydia," Jacque called back to her just before she rounded another corner in the zig-zag house.

Once they'd emerged back into Betelgeuse's sector of the house, she pulled her arm from his grip and rubbed the skin where his deathly cold skin had been in contact. "Why are you so cold with them?" she asked with a frown, cocking her head when he snorted in response to her questioning. "They seem very polite. You know, at first, I thought all dead people were as _crude_ as you - with the exception of the Maitlands - but not I'm realizing you're a one-off."

"The pair of 'em talk yer ears off. And _hey_ , that's coming from me. It gets dull after a while," he said with a sneer. Lydia watched as he wandered over into the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter, sitting there with his legs dangling much like he had been when she'd found him perched on the gravestone over a year ago. "Always tryna lecture me on morality and shit. You'll probably get along with 'em just fine cause yer exactly as pure and good as they are."

He'd juiced his stash of salted bugs into his hands and was chewing on insect shells as he spoke, not really paying full mind to what he was saying. Lydia raised a brow at his observation of her; she had never considered herself pure and good but it was as close to a compliment without any innuendo attached that she'd get from the poltergeist. With a sigh, she inched closer to the kitchen doorframe.

"Well, what was so important that you had to drag me away?"

His eyes refocused at that and lit up a bit, a wide grin returning to his pale face. "Ya wanna see somethin' _cool_ , babes?"

Her shoulders dropped slightly and tilted her head suspiciously. "I feel like... our definitions of cool are two very different things."

"Nah, you'll love it," he said hastily, dropping down from the counter before towering over her. " _Trust me_."

Betelgeuse, of all people, asking her to trust him was likely the most ridiculous thing she'd heard in years but after all the things she'd seen the day before she couldn't help but nod slowly, intrigued as to what wacky shit he'd drag her along to next. "Something tells me I don't have much of a choice in this but... sure."

" _Well_ , it's either come with me or stay here on yer own with bonehead and legs," he shrugged, holding out his hand and running his tongue over his lower lip as she shot him a look that very clearly said ' _I'd much prefer that and you know it_.'

Still, Lydia rolled her eyes and half-reluctantly placed her palm in his own. There was a second where nothing happened and then suddenly the pair was ripped from the space, leaving the kitchen empty as he dragged her off to god-knows-where.


	9. nothing down here is actually real

They appeared seamlessly in the center of what appeared to be a town area, the orange ambiance of the neitherworld beating down on them with full force thanks to the fact there were no looming buildings to block it out like in the old tudor town. The area they were stood in was circular and there were roads leading off all around them flanked by semi-modern buildings of varying heights. It was busier there - almost overwhelmingly so - and the people were dressed in a style reminiscent of the 70's.

The older town was dull and eerie whereas this place was full of color and the hum of chatter was a lot louder, only overpowered by the occasional car in the distance. Lydia peered forwards down the widest branch-off street and was intrigued to see that there were hundreds upon hundreds of stalls set up. Some looked like game stalls - the ones you'd see at a fair - and other seemed to be selling indulgent goods like jewelry, confectionery and useless junk that Delia would've been all over. 

"We're still in your world, right?" Lydia asked quietly, noting that most people looked completely normal; no physical scars to speak of. The orange sky was the only indication they weren't on Lydia's plane; although she supposed maybe it was just late in the day. 

"Yeah, babes, we are. The people here are a little more... ah, _touchy_ about their injuries. They know how to hide 'em well," he said, leaning down to speak gruffly into her ear so she could hear him over the buzz. She didn't flinch when he looped an arm around her back, resting his hand limply on her shoulder as he nudged at her to walk down the street. "I know a guy down here. Been meanin' to visit him fer a while actually. He owns a stall a little further down. Sells somethin' I need," the ghost said with a grin, glancing down at her and raising his eyebrows up briefly in a knowing manner. Not ominous at all.

"Everything looks so _normal_ ," Lydia remarked, shrinking away from his mouth and shifting under his arm. She never had been one for normal but thankfully the town was unique enough that she wasn’t _too_ put off by its regularity. Just... less _inspired_ than she was by the Tudor town. 

She began to wander forwards with the encouragement of Betelgeuse's arm, flinching away from a tall man with a barking voice, waving a sign advertising some sort of clearly scammy product. She then moved her attention on to a stall manned by a skeleton selling bone-whitening paste, smiling softly as the image of Jacques friendly smile floated through her consciousness. "I didn't think they'd have stuff like _this_ down here. It reminds me a little of New York, actually... all the _colours_ and _people_ ," she remarked more to herself than the ghost gently urging her along. 

"They've got everything down here," he chuckled, all whilst shooting the pushy advertiser who'd invaded Lydia's space a venomous glare. "And I mean _everything_." The man, recognising the ghost immediately, backed off with a sheepish look before moving on to harass other passers by.

"Yeah, _you_ would know," Lydia said dryly, although a small smile found its way into her face when he barked out laughter in response. He led her soundly forwards and she was fighting desperately to take it all   
everything. Lydia was currently surrounded by hundreds of clashing cultures and aesthetics and its was overwhelming for her; she'd always been the type of person who'd found beauty in the tiniest details and she suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to begin taking photos.  
Alas, her camera was at the roadhouse still in her bag.

"Now, I need something to _pay_ this fella with," the ghost said with a scratchy grin, turning his attention to one of the many game stalls. The one he'd set his eyes on - a stall manned by a tall, unnaturally hairy being - had wads of purple cash pinned on the back wall acting as cash prizes for the ghouls who decided to test their luck on the games. 

Lydia watched with an unimpressed, raised brow as Betel flicked his wrist and sent one of the wads flying off of the wall and right into his open palm. She'd usually be irritated - never one to condone he disruption of a small, self run business - but she was far too interested in getting a look at the bills.

"Woah," she breathed, leaning into him and standing on her tiptoes to try get a better look. "Who is that?" 

He snorted as she craned over his arm and passed down the cash, watching as a pleased little smile twisted her features. "Dunno who it is. Don't care, either," he grunted, taking back the strange, purple money once Lydia had finished ogling over it. It hadn’t once crossed her mind that they’d have some sort of financial system in the neitherworld. 

"Look at 'em go. They're idiots for buyin' into this shit, I'm telling' ya."

Lydia looked up and followed his line of sight, watching as an undead family handed over two bills to a game-stall runner and began throwing balls at cups in an attempt to knock them down. "Why? Is it a scam?"

"Huh? Oh, nah, I don't mean the _game_ , babes. Well, maybe the game's a scam - I wouldn't put it past the slimy fuckers that work along here - but I meant the _currency_. Sure, I collect rent money sometimes for the sake of it and I nick cash like I did just now when I need to but otherwise this stuff is useless down here," he said matter-of-factly, gesturing at Lydia with the money. "It's just one o' the many ways the powers the be try ta keep ya in line. Y'know, it gives people the feeling of normalcy."

"Well... what about buying important things? People still need clothes and food and places to live," she replied in a small voice. "Not everyone can take the anarchist route like you."

The ghost laughed loudly - loud enough to draw a few startled expressions their way - and tightened his arm around her shoulders. " _O' course they can_. See, that's the dumb part about all this. People down here don't gotta eat. Money is needed to sustain life n' all that so I understand why you folks up top use the money system but with nobody living down here - except you I suppose - there's no point in having jobs for the sake of providing for your family." He removed his heavy arm from Lydia and began to flick through the bills, talking as he counted them. "On top o' all that, these stiffs could all just juice up food, clothes and digs whenever they want. 'Course, they're all too _stupid_ to realise it, ya know. If they did, it'd be anarchy. Total anarchy, I'm tellin' ya. Beautiful."

She cocked her head at that, that particular tidbit surprising her. "So... you're not the only person who can do that? Summon whatever you want?"

He snorted puffing out his chest slightly. "Well _hey_ , I'm a little more powerful than yer _average_ stiff but technically everyone can. Just very few actually figure it out...." he paused before waving his hands as he tried to find a way to get his point across. "Look at it this way; Babs and four eyes could alter their appearance because they can feel and touch the skin that they pulled around and changed. But if they wanted to juice up food they'd have a rough time without being able to see and feel it, y'get me? These folks don't realise that all they gotta do is just think _real_ hard about somethin' and it'll appear. We're _dead_ \- nothing down here is _actually_ real in the sense that it is up there. Unfortunately they're all too busy licking the grimy fuckin' boots of the beuracy to realise that and the powers that be take advantage of their shit-for-brains. It's dumb. Funny but dumb."

Lydia let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, her brain buzzing as looked around at everyone going about they're business whilst he talked. _Nothing down here is actually real_. That was... daunting. "How has nobody figured that out yet? I mean... you obviously did but..."

Lydia trailed off, not sure where she was going, and Betelgeuse picked back up once he realised she wouldn't be finishing her sentence. "People like order, apparently. There ain't really any poverty down here since there's infinite access to everything and poverty is just a stupid human construct y'know but uh... yeah, folks don't complain. The only people who'd have any reason to hate the system - the pencil pushers in the civil service office - are too loopy and depressed to take any action."

Lydia smiled to herself, slowly realising that the disgusting ghoul was smarter than he let on beneath all of the grime, lechery and showmanship. It seemed she'd opened a door which held in a topic the ghost was particularly opinionated about. "Money has never made sense to me. Both here and in my world. And that's coming from someone who's dad works in real estate," Lydia added quietly; unhelpfully.

"Ah, don't think about it. You'll drive yerself insane. Just uh- hey, how bout ya pick a stall and we can check it out."

Whilst Betel was on a personal, seemingly secret mission of sorts, the ghost clearly was moving at his own leisurely pace and didn't have any issue with getting wrapped up in side quests. As long as he got to fuck with someone, of course. Lydia had made an instant beeline to a games stall that was giving away wonderful, otherworldly plants for prizes and she'd very quickly realised that Betelgeuse was aiding her aim. 

The goal was the throw balls into different sized cups all appointed with a score. The higher the score, the rarer the prize. Lydia had never been one for physical education at school; she was often the last to be picked for teams and she wasn't sure she'd ever won a game. This was the main reason that Lydia grew suspicious after landing her third fifty-pointer in a row. She'd done a test throw, throwing the ball in nearly the opposite direction to the cup, and yet it still fell neatly into the hole.

Ordinarily she would've snapped at the ghost but when a beautiful, otherworldly plant was placed into her arms any irritation she felt melted away. Her face broke out into her widest smile yet and she hugged it close as they walked away. "I think I'll call you..." she paused, a nostalgic frown appearing. "I'll call you Percy."

Betelgeuse watched with amused curiosity as she hugged the little ceramic pot like a child and lovingly gave it a name as if it were a cat. "Yer a weird kid," he grunted, drawing the attention of both her and the plant. 

"This is a weird place," she shot back without hesitation, placing her eyes back onto her new baby. "Ya got me there," he grunted, watching as she petted the strange thing’s green head like it were a dog. 

The street felt never ending and when they finally stopped walking - Betel having arrived at his destination - Lydia could see it still continued for what could've been miles. She followed his line of sight into an alleyway and saw a door nestled amongst the dumpsters with a rusty sign hanging above it; the lettering impossible to see. God know what he was there to buy. Lydia wasn’t sure she wanted to know. 

"That's about what I expected," she said dryly, watching as the ghost pulled his stack of stolen bills back out and quickly recounted. He grinned at her unimpressed assessment before handing her a few notes and nodding towards the stalls. "Go entertain yerself for a second, babes. Don't think you'd like what's in there. Hey, if I'm feelin' _charitable_ I'll grab some grub when I come to find ya."

She swallowed, not too keen on the thought of being left alone but also relieved that she'd get a minute away from the ghoul. She wandered off to one of the many booths and took interest in one which was giving away stuffies of mythical neitherworldian creatures. 

The man seemed nice enough so she handed him both of the notes and set to work on trying to hone in her nonexistent sports skills. Naturally, things weren't going too well without Betel's magical aid. 

She only had three more throws left and one of them was completely ruined when a voice behind her made her jump so bad the ball almost hit the poor guy running the booth. She turned around sharply, grimacing when she saw a face looming down at her.

" _Hello_ there little miss." The stranger had a voice which sounded like it should've been scratchy and intimidating but the wheeze tilt to it just served to mildly disturb Lydia. "You lost?"

Upon quick inspection, Lydia noticed that the person looking over her was - or was dressed like - a clown. He looked like he could potentially seem pleasant from a distance but up close Lydia could see features that gave his energy an uncomfortable tilt. His nose was just that bit too long which, combined with his puffy white hair and wide brimmed hat, served to give his face a shadowy, sunken appearance. 

"No, I'm not," Lydia replied sharply, pointedly turning her back to him again as she faced the game, throwing another ball to try and distract herself from the presence behind her. "But thank you for... uh, the concern."

"Well, I ain't seen you around here. And I'd know if I had. Dyou _wanna_ get lost?" He asked, shuffling closer to her so there was a mere inch behind his front and her back. This was the exact goddamn reason she didn't want Betel leaving her alone. Atleast when he was being a creepy fucker she knew how to stop him. "I know a spot," the clown insisted upon hearing her silence. 

"I'll pass. Thanks again." Short and sharp. She kept a wary eye out for the ghost but did her best not to let the clown see her looking so as not to alert him to the fact she was there with company. If he knew that he'd probably pull her away from the crowds before her accompaniment could see him leering. 

"Come _onnn_ , ya don't wanna go wasting that cash o' yours on some shitty minigame stall now, do ya? How about I show you how we roll down in the tent-"

"-Hey Scuzzo."

Lydia dropped her shoulders in relief when a scratchy voice cut him off quickly; one she was growing to recognise and even appreciate. Particularly in times like this. The clown had been seconds away from placing a gloved hand on her shoulder to spin her around and she knew that would've been bad news since he would've figured out about her living status. She'd learnt that the dead were particularly sensitive to human warmth. 

"Betel!" The clown said with a grin, though his nervousness was clear beneath it. "Hey fella, it's been uh- it's been a long time since I saw ya."

"Not long enough," he grunted, narrowing his eyes when Lydia turned to face him, anxiety still plaguing her features. He was holding a stick of spiderfloss in one hand and passed it down to her. Something clicked in the clowns mind when he saw that the bio-exorcist knew the girl and he took a very large step back, hands firmly in his polkdadot pockets. "Just keeping an eye on your friend over here. She looked a little lonely, you know how it is. People round here. Didn’t want her getting into trouble. It's good to see you back in town," he warbled out with a crooked smile. 

Betelgeuse was only half listening and had since dropped something in his pocket; a small, suspicious-looking, grubby pouch that he hadn’t had before he’d walked into the alleyway store. He looked back up once the clown had finished rambling and narrowed his eyes. 

"Fuck off or I'll cut yer stupid nose off and feed it to you," he said without much commitment, in far too good of a mood after his successful trade to muster any actual hostility. He dropped his arm back on Lydia's shoulders and watched Scuzzo scuttle away, dark brows knit together in irritation. 

"You know him?" She asked, staring at the strange looking cotton candy Betel had passed down to her. "Everyone knows him. _Creepy bastard_ ," he grunted.

"Looks like everyone knows _you_ too..." the girl said in a small voice, suddenly noticing that the majority of the surrounding people had paused to see how Betel would react to Scuzzo. It was fairly common knowledge that the pair clashed on the regular; atleast back when Betel had been half free. 

"Got a bit of a reputation around here, babes," the ghost grinned, tugging her tighter. "Though, everyone thinks I'm still sat in the waiting room."

"Not anymore they don't."

"Exactly my goal," he chuckled, watching as Lydia finally worked up the courage to take a bite of the cotton candy. "Among other things, o'course." To Lydias surprise the confectionery tasted nearly exactly the same as normal cotton candy but with a strange, salty hint that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

She visibly relaxed when the flavour exploded on her tongue and she shot a sideways look up at Betel. "These outings are your attempts to warm me up to your world, aren't they?"

He grins. "Is it working?"

She glanced down at the food in her hand; delicious and just waiting to be eaten. "Maybe. Maybe not."

He snorted, pushing at her shoulders and encouraging her to start walking back down the street like he had before. "It's better than a no." He glanced back at the stall they were strolling away from and sniffed. "Ya win anything?"

"No. You weren't there to _cheat_ for me so I didn't score a single point."

"Me? _Cheat?!_ How could I cheat when I ain't the one playing? Plus, I'm a man of honour, babes, I don't gotta cheat."

"Shut up."

The stick of cotton candy - or 'spiderfloss' as Betelgeuse had called it when Lydia asked its exact name - was devoured within fifteen minutes of her receiving it. Lydia had used mouthfuls of food as an excuse to avoid talking to the ghost where it wasn't necessary but she no longer had that block and Betel jumped on the opportunity, grabbing the stick from her hands and throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. 

"So seriously, babe. Dya like this place?" He asked, waving his free hand around to articulate his words as she found he often did. Lydia was slowly learning all of his weird little quirks and one of them seemed to be the fact that he was an exceptionally expressive person physically. 

_"I still hate you."_

"Not what I asked, babes."

She shrugged and broke eye contact with the ghost, glancing around her yet again at the colours and culture. "This place is cool... but that doesn't mean I don't miss my home." She shot him a barbed glare which only earned her a shit-eating smile in response. "It could be worse, though, I suppose. I could be stuck in that dump of a crypt you brought me to when you first kidnapped me."

"But instead yer stuck in that dump of a roadhouse?"

"I like the roadhouse!" She interjected, furrowing her thin brows. "Well- I mean I like the people in it. Jacques and Ginger seemed lovely. Before you _scared_ them off."

"Psh, they ain't _scared_ of me. Unfortunately," he said with a frown. "But hey, I count as one of the people in that place so that means ya like _me_ and _that_ is a win in my books, babes." 

"That's not what-"

"-But don't worry about it, I won't tell anyone. Promise. Cross my heart, hope to live," he snorted, watching as her brows nestled even lower over her eyes at his interruption and skewed logic. He could tell she was gearing up to spit back an insult at him - probably a good one too since he was learning she had a sharp tongue - and chose to change the subject. "You about ready to go back? I got what I needed,” he grinned, patting his pocket where the pouch made a jangling sound. “I was just waitin' fer you to finish that sugary shit."

He tilted his head, holding out his palm as he always did when preparing to juice them from the space. Lydia let out a deep breath, willing the tension from her shoulders - tension that had only formed from the effort of staying civil around the ghost - before placing her hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a filler chapter I’m afraid :( I’ve been feeling pretty low this week so writing stuff has been difficult but hopefully the worst of the slump is over and I can hop back into establishing some good old fashioned _plot_ real soon


	10. icky and unsettled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, two in one week. Here’s to random bursts of motivation!
> 
> If there are any weird typos or mistakes please let me know! I’m posting this at midnight so there’s a chance I may have skipped over some mistakes when editing :p

The next morning, Lydia woke up feeling like she'd been hit by a train. A freight train. Going at full speed.

 _Every single muscle_ in her body ached and that dreadful pain was only elevated by the raging fever that had crept up on her whilst she slept.

The second she went to sit up, her body screamed in protest and she slumped back down, the tiny movement causing her to gasp for breath like she'd just sprinted two hundred metres. Between the molten lava swimming around in her head and the seizing ache in her joints, Lydia wasn't sure she could feel any worse but when she started to cough - an action that made her chest burn - she decided it was time to call for help.

"Be-Betelgeuse."

She'd meant to yell out his name but it came out as a pathetic, stuttered wheeze, her body simply not containing enough energy to raise her voice any higher. There was absolutely no way he'd realistically have been able to hear her but thankfully it seemed that the ghost could still atleast sense when someone was calling his name since the door cracked open mere minutes after his name had left her mouth.

Betelgeuse wasn't sure why Lydia would be calling for him but he was certain that the tugging feeling he felt in his chest was her. He'd pulled himself off the sofa, a smug grin forming on his face. Whilst she'd shown him a level of civility throughout their time together, she very rarely actively asked him for anything and he was fully intending on rubbing that in her face as he pushed open her door.

The complacent smile he had plastered onto his visage dropped the second he caught sight of the way she was laid. Her chest was rising and falling heavily and there was a thin sheen of sweat coating her alabaster skin which encouraged her dark hair to stick to her. Her eyes were far more hollowed out than usual and her usually rosy lips had paled as well. _Shit. She looked really fucking ill._

Betel rushed over as soon as he'd gotten over his initial shock, grimacing when she barely reacted to his presence. The ghost fretted for a minute before placing his palm over her burning forehead. "Kid? What's happenin'?" he hissed, feeling panic start to rise in his chest when she didn’t even flinch. She was hot. Really, _really_ hot. So much so that she actually sighed in relief when his icy hand met her skin. She cracked an eye open, staring up at the ghost, and frowned slightly. He looked... scared? Fear was an ugly expression on someone as intrepid as Betelgeuse.

Any other day she would've felt at least a little put off at his closeness but in the moment he was the least of her worries. Plus, it seemed his thought weren't oozing with filth for once. The ghost knew he had to stay calm and keep a level head but it was incredibly difficult when that foreign, overwhelmingly human sensation of panic was suffocating him. He'd lived through the days where sickness used to run rampant and he'd seen far too many people die from fevers and body aches reminiscent of the ones it seemed Lydia was experiencing.

"I feel like death warmed up," Lydia said jokingly in a shallow voice once she'd mustered up the energy to speak, subsequently breaking the ghost out of his internal spiral. "What the hell was in that cotton candy?"

“ _Nothin_ ', babes. That- that was normal spiderfloss. Completely harmless stuff," he said through gritted teeth, glad that she seemed to be at least semi-functional but also strung up about the fact she thought he'd give her something that could make her sick. He'd been making sure everything she'd eaten or drunk was safe since a lot of the neitherworld cuisine wasn't exactly safe for living-human consumption. Had he slipped up? Had she eaten something without his permission...? 

His face dropped, realization flooding his features. 

"Babes, what did you drink at that bar? The one I brought ya to when we first came down here."

"Just a water," Lydia mumbled back, wincing as her head started to throb. Her chest tightened again and she braced herself, groaning when a rather violent coughing fit came and passed. "Should I not have drunk that?"

" _Fuck_ ," Betel spat, removing his soothingly cool palm from Lydia's forehead and rubbing at his temples in irritation. "Rat _shit_. Lyds, the dead are _dead_. Folks can't catch diseases and shit down here so we don't filter out the fuckin' water," he groaned, bending back up to his full height as he realized just how bad her situation had the potential to be, assuming his suspicions were correct. They had to be, right? How else would she have gotten sick? It was common knowledge that the water supplies in the neitherworld were never filtered because there was no need. Yeah. _Yeah_ , it was definitely that water. He'd be paying that barman a nasty visit when Lydia got better. _If_ Lydia got better.

Perhaps if the goth had been in a more functional state, she would've reacted to Betelgeuse's unsettling revelation that she'd drunk contaminated water but she merely flopped her head to the side, silently fighting through another feverous wave of heat. The ghost watched helplessly with a grimace as she fought to stay conscious and he felt his long dead heart clench. _What the fuck_. He knew his freedom depended on her staying alive but strangely he couldn't have given less of a shit about that in the moment. He just wanted to find a way to make her feel better which was... wildly out of character for him. Unnervingly so.

He swallowed hard, ignoring the implications of what he was feeling and he chose to distract his mind by focusing his energy towards summoning a glass of clean water and a cool, damp flannel to place over her forehead. In truth he didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing. He really wasn't good with the illness shit. He never had been, not even when he'd been alive. He'd always avoided sick people like his life depended on it because... well, because it had. The only reason he'd survived in plague-era europe was because of his reluctance to stay close to those who were sick. Unfortunately, this refusal to nurse the ill had left him with very limited medical knowlege. He hated admitting it to himself but... he needed help.

"Hang in there, babes," the ghost hissed, glancing at her before juicing himself into the far end of the roadhouse. Ginger had been calmly spinning herself some new additions to her wardrobe when the ghoul dropped loudly and clumsily into the space, cursing to himself before setting his eyes on the spider. She jumped at the sudden intrusion, hissing out an insult under her breath before cutting off her thread and turning to the ghost.

" _Betel_. Now come on, you ask us to respect your space but you can't do the same back? I'm trying to focus here," she complained with a stern frown, already beginning to push Betel towards her door. 

"This is an _emergency_ , ya spindly bitch," he snapped, watching her tiny brow furrow in surprised offence. "Lyds is sick. Like _real_ bad. I- I dunno how to deal with that shit."

Any other day, the spider would've snapped at him for being so incredibly rude to her but she could see clear as day just how panicked the ghost was. It was unnerving, in truth. She'd never seen him so worked up which meant something had to be _really_ wrong. The arachnid knew his fear probably stemmed from the selfish knowledge that his wife's death would mean he lost his freedom but that didn't matter. The kind girl was still in need of help and there was no way the spider was cruel enough to refuse her just to spite the ghost.

" _That poor little thing_ ," she sighed, shuffling forwards before climbing up onto the ghosts arm. "I'll try and help her, of course. Juice us over there, will you? It'll be quicker than walking."

Welp, he couldn't argue with that. They were back in the guest room within seconds and Ginger instantly got to work, fussing over her and correcting the things Betelgeuse hadn't thought to such as replacing the thick quilt with a thinner one re-dampening the cool cloth on her forehead. It seemed she was much better versed in the art of nursing than he was. 

She'd started giving him instructions on what to juice up; listing the medication, food and supplies she needed as well as briefing him on how to handle symptoms like the fever and the body aches. He let the arachnid walk him through it with minimal interruption - which was extremely out of character for him - until she was satisfied that they'd done all they could do. 

Lydia was propped up straighter and Ginger had encouraged her to drink some honey and lemon tea which had certainly brightened her up a little bit. The uncomfortable sheen of sweat had been carefully wiped away and Betelgeuse had simply watched, leaning against the doorway feeling every bit like the helpless asshole he was. 

Ginger had since left after informing him that he should probably do the same. "She needs plenty of peace and quiet," the spider had told him before shuffling off back to her end of the building. The ghost hadn't left yet, though. He'd felt the urge to stay and watch as she finally fell into a comfortable sleep. She'd been conscious whilst the spider had sorted her out but had remained silent and hadn't commented once on the fact Betel was just staring at her with a look of upmost anxiety. 

After about ten minutes he decided to make leave and shut the door carefully, his jaw tense. Just because she was _stable_ didn't mean she was _okay_ and Betel was still very much aware of the fact that he didn't know what exactly she'd come down with. Not just that but he knew it shouldn't have been possible. Part of the marriage clause was that she wouldn't be able to die from stupid, natural human things like illness. He needed answers. And there was only one person he was familiar with who knew more than him.

Betelgeuse dropped himself right into Juno's office just like he had done with Ginger. He didn't have the time nor the patience to bother with knocking on doors. Unfortunately, the caseworker didn't jump or show any sign that she was surprised like the spider had. She merely glanced up and sighed, placing down the report she'd been reading through, before waving at the seat before her desk.

" _Betel_. I was wondering when you'd make an appearance. You know, the powers-that-be aren't very happy wi-"

"-Shut the _fuck_ up, Juno," the ghost spat, causing the old woman to raise a brow. "I don't give two shits about how those assholes feel. I need _help_."

 _Wow_. The ghost with the most... asking for _help_? Juno realized something must've been genuinely wrong and she swallowed her words, sitting a little straighter in her chair as Betelgeuse lowered himself down opposite her. "Make it quick, Geuse."

"Lydia's _sick_ ," he spat, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. "I dunno whats wrong with her but I think she drank some stingy water from some fuckin' bar and now she's rollin' around all hot and achey n' shit and- _fuck_ , Juno I dunno what to do. She's not meant to be able to get sick. It was part o' the deal."

Juno shook her head slowly, taking a deep drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke out through the slit in her neck. "And what do you suggest I do, Betelgeuse? I'm a _caseworker_ , not a doctor."

"I dunno, Juno. Wave yer _magic fingers_ around and juice me up some _fuckin' answers_ , maybe? Yer meant to be the one who knows shit. So come on. What can I do to help her?"

Juno was... curious to say the least. _What can I do to help her?_ He'd phrased the question in a way that sounded completely unselfish. Of course, he could’ve just been doing that to earn her sympathy but Betelgeuse had never sugarcoated anything with her; he'd always been his true, authentic self. Did that mean he could _actually_ feel some modicum of fondness for the girl? She wouldn't put it past him... he always had been one to fall face-first into things. Especially women.

She ashed her smoke before fixing the ghost with a weary, uninterested look; a facade to hide her inner speculations. "Geuse. The girl will be _fine_. It's much harder for an immortal breather who possesses the energy of an undead spouse to actually succumb to an illness. Especially one as insignificant as a flu. Her immune system combined with your juice is too strong for that, now. She'll just be... _uncomfortable_ for a few days."

Juno's reassurances would've usually comforted the ghost however she'd thrown him for a loop right at the start of her explanation, causing him to zone out and instead hang onto that one specific word she'd thrown out so casually.

"... _Immortal_?"

Juno raised a brow, a subtle smile playing at her lips. "You didn't know?"

" _No, I didn't fucking know!?"_

The caseworker looked entirely too tired with Betelgeuse already but there was no way he'd be leaving her office without further explanation. Especially not now she'd confirmed that Lydia would be completely fine; he wasn't in a rush to get back anymore. 

"Ok, Betel. Listen up... You're already aware that the marriage was a simple transfer of energy, _yes?"_

Betel nodded quickly, his eyes narrowin.g. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

"That means she gained some of your abilities. Namely, an enhanced tolerance to the neitherworld and what is effectively _immortality_. Your juice acts as armor for her mortal body. It strengthens her immune system and prevents processes like ageing. Have you not wondered how she's faring so well out here? In the land of the dead? A place where breathers shouldn't be able to exist?"

Betelgeuse's shoulders dropped; partially from relief and realization but also a little from embarrassment. He'd made a fool of himself and had let himself panic just to discover than Lydia would be fine after all and it was merely a flu? He could hardly be blamed since his personal experience with illness was hardly a positive one but still... way to ruin his reputation.

"Shit," he grumbled, running one of his claws through his hair before meeting Juno's eyes. " _Shit_ , yer right. So you're saying I should just.. let the kid sweat it out?"

"Precisely."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Like I said; I'm not a doctor, Betel." Juno tilted her head slightly, her thin lips pulling up into a rare smile. "But I did do a lot of reading on the topic of your marriage. I firmly believe that she'll be completely fine... although you might not be after you break the news of the immortality clause to her. It's a lot to take on for a breather. _Good luck_ , Geuse."

The ghost frowned before standing up slowly, his lips pulled into a grimace, before adjusting his suit and taking a step back. He opened his mouth as he went to say something but then decided against it, not wishing to embarrass himself further. He didn't need to thank the caseworker. She knew he was grateful for the reassurances without him having to further shoot his reputation as an emotionless, anarchy-loving poltergeist. 

The ghost just averted his gaze before juicing himself from the office and right back into the guest room where it seemed Lydia was in the process of waking up. She jumped slightly at his sudden appearance - a good thing since it meant she was somewhat functional - and relaxed when she saw his relaxed posture. He wasn't there to cause trouble. 

Her glass was empty so he juiced it full again, filling it with that strange honey and lemon mixture Ginger had recommended. He made a mental note not to question her judgment too harshly in the future. She clearly knew what she was doing since it had worked. "Thanks," Lydia breathed out, grabbing it straight up and swallowing a few mouthfuls.

"Got some news for you," he grunted eventually, watching as she placed the glass down and turned her attention to him. Despite the fact she was definitely more alert, she still looked dreadful and her eyes were already starting to droop. Thankfully the painkillers Ginger had suggested were kicking in and her joints no longer burned when she moved. Still, she would have much preferred to just be left in peace. " _Right_ now? Can't it wait?"

"Shut it, babes, just _listen_. This won’t take long. I've got good news and maybe-bad news," he said with a small grin, juicing up a stall and sitting himself down. "Good news is yer not gonna die," he started, watching as her lips curled up into a small smile. "I still _feel_ like I'm dying but... great. Good to know. Whats the maybe-bad news."

"Bad news is ya can't die. Not from this kinda thing, anyways," he said, wincing as she furrowed her tiny brows, her mouth falling into a frown. 

"What- what does that even _mean_?" Either Lydia's brain was too fried from sickness or the ghost really just wasn't making any sense.

"It's uh- another weird rule from the whole wedding thing. One I didn't know 'bout."

" _Another_ one? How many more weird, life-altering details are you neglecting to tell me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and sitting up a little straighter. 

He snorted, watching as she bristled. "Yer awfully mouthy for someone who's meant to be ill."

Her eyes narrowed further but she said nothing; waiting for him to spill his guts. He couldn't blame her for being antsy. The last time he'd had to break the rules of their wedding to her, she'd been forced to leave her family. He was hopeful that this information wouldn't be quite as jarring as that had been.

"Yeah, uh... there was a _transfer_ of some sort and now ya got some of my juice in ya," he started, directing all of his willpower into resisting the urge to make a particularly sleazy joke out of that sentence. "It changed some things. Juno used the word _immortal_."

Any other day Lydia would've probably started freaking out, demanding an elaboration or further explanation. Luckily for Betelgeuse, she was far too tired and far too sickly to really find the energy to care. Instead she just slumped down and laughed humorlessly. "Neat. So I'm stuck here _forever_ forever. Not just forever-as-in-until-I-die forever."

The ghost snorted, standing up and juicing the stool away. "Yeah, pretty much, babes. Ya get to spend eternity with me. Lucky you."

She rolled her eyes, her head falling as a wave of tiredness hit her at the same time as another feverous wave. Betelgeuse watched in real-time as her eyes dropped shut and she nodded off _right_ then and there. It was actually rather impressive; he'd never seen someone fall asleep so fast. But hey, atleast he'd kept her awake long enough to deliver the newfound information. 

On Juno's instructions, he could’ve just walked away then and there. He just needed to wait for her body to get it's shit together and fight off the sickness. Yet, he still felt a strange, foreign obligation to stay and help. Hell, she was in the state she was in because of him. _He'd_ left her at the bar and hadn't bothered to check what the barman gave her. It may have been purely contractual but she was his _wife_ dammit he felt all icky and unsettled seeing her so uncomfortable. _Emotions. Gross. I need to get my shit together._

Betelgeuse flicked his wrist and re-dampened the cloth on Lydia's forehead, ensuring it was a comfortable temperature, before backing towards the door. He spared her a final glance and then shut in gently, making sure it was closed completely so none of the bright orange light could infiltrate the room and anger the light-sensitive headache she was suffering from. _God_ , he was going soft.

"Only one way to fix that," he grumbled to himself, wandering through to the living area before slumping onto the couch, summoning a beer from the fridge and popping the cap with his teeth. Alcohol. Nothing like sweet, _sweet_ alcohol to numb ones inhibitions and drown out ones inner thoughts for a while. “Cheers to that,” he grunted, raising the bottle and toasting to the air before tipping it down his gullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even Lydia can escape the 2020 experience :P
> 
> Side note; I found an old AU mini-fic (In which ghosts don’t exist. BJ is a living man; still a sleazy bastard of course. Lydia is a college student) based around Lydia accidentally hitting Betel with her car (lol) whilst he’s drunk and thus feeling an obligation to nurse him back to health. I wrote it _ages_ ago and I’ve been thinking of posting it alongside this fic as a side project? I’m more sure yet - it’s pretty niche - but I’m figuring why the hell not. All I’ve gotta do is go through and clean it up a tad... we’ll see I suppose o>o


	11. one track mind p1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of a single chapter I split into two because I felt it worked a little better that way :)

Over the past week, Lydia had been steadily recovering from her unexpected bout of sickness. By the end of day two, she was borderline mobile and by day four she was almost back to her normal, witty self; save for a few achy joints and a very mild fever.

Ginger had come to check on her every night to ensure she had everything she needed but, to her immense surprise, it was _Betelgeuse_ who was paying the closest attention to her.

He'd been disappearing off to god-knows-where every night ('attending to business' as he'd rather vaguely put it) but she always found he was back at the roadhouse come morning and she'd always find a fresh glass of water and some tablets on the table beside her. On day three he'd sat with her and had gone back over the whole deal with the immortality bullshit. Lydia had taken it slightly _less_ calmly the second time (mainly because she was finally functional enough to form coherent thoughts) but she could see that Betelgeuse's intention wasn't to wind her up and it was all out of his control. Plus, she couldn't stay mad at him when he was being so damn _accommodating_.

It was unnerving. If she ignored his various sleazy comments and sloppy physical appearance, he was being surprisingly _gentlemanly_. So much so that she was starting to actually trust him and she certainly tolerated his presence a lot more than she had merely a few days before. He was actually rather funny when she managed to look past her irritation towards him. It was clear his intentions weren't to cause her pain - quite the opposite - and so, by day five, she'd given in trying to keep up her walls.

***

Lydia was sat on the couch in the main living room besides Betel. There was well over a metre of space between them but she wasn't quite as tense as she would've been a week ago. In fact, she was _laughing_. They were attempting to watch a movie and every time he'd fight with the ancient DVD player, she'd break out into a bout of giggles. After about five minutes of Betelgeuse cursing at the aged machine, the DVD slid in with a concerning rattle and the screen began to flicker on.

"That's _ridiculous_ ," Lydia snorted, sitting up straighter since she'd sunk down from her laughter. "Come _on_ , have you not considered upgrading this thing? I _know_ you can do it literally by just snapping your fingers."

The ghost snorted in response, patting the top of the boxy television like he was a sleazy car salesman presenting a vehicle to a customer. "Upgrade? This baby is _perfect_. Why replace somethin' that don't need replacin'?"

"Don't pat it too hard, it _might fall apart_ ," Lydia shot at him, immediately breaking out into giggles again. The ghost narrowed his eyes before huffing and flopping down onto his end of the couch, causing the whole thing to shake violently. Lydia groaned as the movement made her still-healing body shudder and she shot him a dirty look. " _Asshole_."

"Shut up and watch the movie," he growled, placing down the Exorcist DVD box on the coffee table before them. "This is a slice o' cinematic history yer watching, ya little _brat_. You kids wouldn't know good cinema if it hit ya in the damn face."

"Oh, this TV is _definitely_ a slice of history. And it should _stay_ history. How am I meant to watch a movie when I can only see three pixels?"

"Am I gonna have to slap a metal grate over ya mouth like I did to ya ghost mom? Cause I will. I'll fuckin' do it," he hissed, watching her stick her tongue out at him. "I think I preferred you when you were too sick to function," he grumbled, sticking his own tongue out right back at her in a childish display of one-up.

"Sheesh, _fine_ ," Lydia laughed, turning her attention to the TV as grainy, warbled sound started blaring out over the speakers.

The movie began, played and ended all in a fairly comfortable silence. It was one Lydia had seen before and she soon realized the ghost had _definitely_ also seen it previously. More than once, apparently, based on the way he could mouth along to each scene word-for-word. It was almost endearing. _Almost_.

Lydia was perfectly cosy and warm but she felt herself growing uncomfortable as the credits rolled on. Betelgeuse's eyes were on her. He wasn't being obvious about it but rather he was side-eyeing her as if he were trying to subtlety read her mind. She was desperately hoping he'd just lose interest in whatever the fuck he was looking at soon; she was growing increasingly self-conscious and the credits had almost finished.

A whole minute later and he was _still_ staring at her. Lydia was right on the verge of snapping and asking him what his damn problem was but he beat her to it, turning his body to face her completely before quietly clearing his throat.

"Hey, babes?"

"Mhm?"

"What's the deal with yer parents? 'Cause I know they ain't both biological... Or at least one of 'em ain't, right?"

She froze up at that, her spine and head tingling as anxiety began to crawl slowly up her back. She hadn't been expecting _that_ question of all things. It was confusing. Unnerving. Uncalled for. She'd actually been having a half-decent time and he felt the need to go and throw _that_ out there? Lydia chewed on her lower lip uncomfortably, averting her eyes and instead staring at her knees.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

There was a long pause. One that had Lydia squirming in her seat.

"You still owe me one from the whole Maitlands situation, ya know."

The girl dropped her shoulders, rubbing at her temples. The light fever meant there was still a faint tension in her head and Betel throwing her for a loop wasn't helping it at all. But hell, he could've asked her to do something much worse with that favor. Much, _much_ worse. If all he wanted from her was some background information then so be it. She shook her head clear and raised her face back up, staring right back at him with dull eyes.

"Delia's my stepmom. My dad worked in real estate and... he met her through that after- uh, after my mom died."

The ghost sniffed, his posture relaxing a little. He'd expected something like that, honestly. Whilst he found it hard - impossible, even - to feel any sympathy for people who had died, he was still empathetic enough to realize that it upset Lydia and so he shot her a mildly sorry look accompanied by a short, "Death. Ya know _I_ hate it."

Lydia cracked the tiniest of smiles at that at continued. "She was from Belarus but moved here for school. She was smart but... very out of place. You can imagine how badly a bunch of _New Yorker's_ would've treated someone from _Belarus_. Luckily my dad helped her a lot." Lydia paused, fiddling with the golden band on her finger. "She barely put up with him but she did love him and he _definitely_ loved her. He was always busy with work when I was born and so my mom used to take me around the city to see the sights. My dad was earning enough for her to work from home and stay with me most of the time which was nice."

"Explains why yer dad ain't the brightest spark when it comes to being a parent," the ghost observed, scratching at a patch of moss on his neck. "So, how'd yer mom kick the bucket?"

Lydia's jaw clenched and she shot the ghost a look; she was understanding of why he was so crass when it came to the topic of death but it still made her uncomfortable. She swallowed the baseball-sized lump in her throat and pushed out a one-word answer. "Cancer."

Ah. Now that was something he _could_ sympathise with. At least a little bit, anyway. Not from personal experience, of course, but as of recent times he'd seen a number of the dead wander through the waiting room system after suffering from the disease; its popularity had risen dramatically in the afterlife. Most of the victims coming through often looked awfully sickly even in death and their spirits tended to be more beaten down initially than the average stiff. It was upsetting, to say the least.

"It's a bitch," Betel muttered after a long moment of silence, not able to think of any other words to fill the gap in Lydia's speech. He really didn't want to risk cracking a joke and pissing her off to the point that she felt the need to get up and walk off. Plus, it was he who had forced her to bring it up.

Lydia simply nodded, smiling sadly. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." She looked up, cocking her head. "Why'd you wanna know? About my parents, I mean?"

He raised a brow and shrugged. "Curios. Ya _certainly_ didn't get ya looks from the red-headed bitch or Chucky. And you seemed to hate 'em from what I've seen."

She ducked her head at that, a smile infecting her face as an image of her mother flashed through her mind. "No, you're right, I didn't. I looked exactly like her, apparently. She was _beautiful_. I think that's why my dad was so closed off when she died... because I reminded him so much of her. The only thing I inherited from him was his stubbornness according to the Maitlands."

Lydia paused, seemingly thinking hard for a moment, before glancing back up at the ghost. "You know, I always used to wonder how she would've handed the Maitlands' situation. She was so _brave_ all the time and she loved the paranormal... and I also always wondered whether or not you would've gone after her instead of me if she'd still been around," Lydia said, a small grin forming. "She was used to getting attention from _sleazy assholes_ just like you in the big city."

"If she looked anythin' like you then I mighta considered it," the ghost said, grinning before pausing at the second part of her admission. "Oh yeah? I'm sure ya were _both_ used it."

Lydia tilted her head, an incredulous smile aimed his way. "I wasn't. Firstly, because I was still a _child_ when we were back in New York. The people there are gross but not _that_ gross," she started, pausing to shoot Betelgeuse a _very_ pointed look. "Secondly, because I'm not pretty. Not like her. I mean, I _looked_ like her as in I had her features, obviously, but I wasn't _pretty_. Some people just _have it_ , you know? I am not one of those people."

Betelgeuse narrowed his eyes at that, his easy grin melting into a confused frown and his brows pulling together. "Now, who the _fuck_ told ya that?"

"Uh... _everyone_? The people at my school, mainly. Delia never said it but she always... made comments about the way I dressed and acted." Lydia shrugged, feigning indifference. "I don't mind, though. It keeps people off of my back, I guess. And hey, I'm not shallow enough to think that looks are everything."

The ghost grunted, suddenly irritated and defensive much to Lydia's surprise. He sat up straighter and leaned forwards towards the girl slightly, hands clenched firmly beside him as he tried to hold back the urge to shake some damn sense into her. "Yeah, well, the people atcha school must be fuckin' _stupid_. Or _blind_. Or _stupid_ and _blind_."

Lydia felt her cheeks pinkening a little and she dropped her head under his scrutiny, her eyes focused firmly on her hands as she shrugged. "I... uh, guess I don't have to worry about them anymore."

He continued to glare at her, willing her to look up, but the girl kept her gaze set firmly on her hands and he gave up, slumping back into his corner with a huff. Whatever. He didn't even know why he cared quite so much. _She_ clearly didn't. Plus, he seemed to have made her uncomfortable which he cursed himself for; they'd got so damn far in only a week and he was pretty certain she trusted him. Way to fuck it up. Go him.

He juiced the DVD roughly out of the machine and it tucked itself back into its box, the empty holder open and waiting patiently for a new movie to slide itself in.

Lydia was still busy fiddling with her hands, all zoned out whilst the cogs in her brain were turning at an alarming speed. Oh, what the ghost would do to be able to jump into her head and check out her thought process. He prayed she wasn't still thinking self-deprecating thoughts or he'd have to force some sense into the girl. _I'm not pretty_. Fucking ridiculous.

Since she clearly wasn't interested in her surroundings, Betelgeuse summoned a new movie; another one he'd seen multiple times. The Silence of the Lambs. Just disturbing enough that it might replace the weird tension in the room with a new, more welcome kind. Plus, he figured Lydia would be into it, right? She was a little weirdo; psychopathic serial killers were probably right up her street. Hell, _he_ was a psychopathic serial killer and she seemed to tolerate him, right?

Betelgeuse slumped even further into the couch, juicing a pre-lit cigarette into his mouth and then a beer into his left hand. He took a swig before flicking his wrist and magically pushing the play button on the front of the television. The movie started and, like the one-track-minded man he was, he soon forgot all about the awkward tensions he'd stirred up in the room.


	12. one track mind p2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a second part of the last chapter so it's shorter than usual! I think Betelgeuse is a little OOC in this but since I'm trying to write it from his perspective it's hard not to have him be OOC. Who _really_ knows what's going on in his head. I sure don't :P

The dead had a tendency to disassociate from their surroundings from time to time.

With an eternity to spare, zoning out was a common way of coping with the monotonous ways of the afterlife. Betelgeuse had done so extremely frequently when he'd been in purgatory; trapped and bored. He hadn't had a reason to zone out in recent times so it was a surprise when he started to find himself slowly disconnecting from his body as The Silence of the Lambs played.

When he eventually snapped back into the present, the movie had long since ended and he'd realised that Lydia had fallen asleep beside him; the sound of her light snoring giving her away instantly. She'd tried to stay sat in an upright position but somewhere along the line her body had relaxed and she'd ended up in a half-slumped pose which looked anything but comfortable.

Betelgeuse wasn't surprised she'd dropped off so easily despite still being in an unfamiliar environment; the sickness she'd been fighting had taken a toll on her living body and she was also getting used to her new-functioning immune system which seemed to have sapped every last ounce of energy from her. Betelgeuse grinned as she let out a particularly loud snore and he sat himself up straight, flicking off the static, humming television.

It was out of character for him to have drifted away from his brain in the presence of someone else; even more so someone like Lydia. He was slowly noticing that he actually felt somewhat _comfortable_ around her. That was fucking weird. He hadn't felt properly comfortable in a long, long time.

He realised then, rather jarringly so, that it wasn't actually _freedom_ he'd been missing before. If it was, he wouldn't have been so content to sit there in his dingy roadhouse watching old, shitty movies. No... it was _people_ he'd missed.

Betelgeuse had always been a people's person - in life and in death - and he'd certainly missed meaningful contact during his time as a prisoner. Whores didn't count. As fun as Dante's could be, he'd missed actual connections. He'd missed being able to read people and manipulate them. He'd missed being able to banter back and forth with someone, constantly one-upping them in a good-natured display of witty conversation. He'd missed whatever the _fuck_ he had going on with Lydia.

Betelgeuse usually would've made moves on her already but he'd thus far convinced himself that he was too busy or some bullshit like that. And that's all it really was; bullshit. He _wanted_ to act on those urges - the ones he'd never previously denied - and yet he hadn't because he knew that if he forced himself on her in the way he wanted to she'd never warm up to him. And he wanted her to warm up to him _so fucking bad_.

But why should he care? What was _really_ holding him back? Nobody had _ever_ 'warmed up' to him but since when had that stopped him from getting what he wanted?

And then it hit him.

His stomach dropped as he sat there, staring wide-eyed at the clueless, unconscious girl before him. He wasn't too busy; that was a damned lie. He was scared. _Shit_. He was _scared_ because he'd actually gone and fucking caught feelings. Feelings of what nature, exactly? He wasn't sure. But they were feelings regardless and that was not something he was used to. _Shit, shit, shit._ He was an idiot. A huge, massive, gigantic, enormous idiot.

Betelgeuse then did something he hadn't done in a very long time. He took a slow, deep breath. He needed to cool himself down before he did something he'd regret. He was probably just having a weird, out of character moment of panic, _right_? In a few hours, he'd be fine and he'd realise he was just being working himself up over nothing. Plus, having Lydia merely a metre away from him all sleepy and soft wasn't helping his libido from rearing its ugly head.

That reminded him: he should probably... sort her out. If he left her all scrunched up as she was she'd probably wake up with an aching neck. _Great, now he was worried about her comfort. Fan-fucking-tastic. Whatever._

The ghost continued to stare at her, his head ever so slightly cocked. Should he wake her up? He wasn't sure how he'd go about that and even then the thought of talking to her at that moment was enough to make him grimace. He considered just juicing her into the guest bed but that would probably jostle her too much and thus scare the shit out of the poor girl. He'd have to carry her.

Betelgeuse ran a weary, clawed hand through his hair before standing up slowly. He rounded the front of the couch where she was sat and clumsily scooped the dozing girl into his arms, biting down hard on his lower lip as her stifling body temperature caught him by surprise. He often forgot that breathers still had the ability to produce warmth and the feeling was only amplified tenfold thanks to the fact he wasn't used to being able to feel any heat.

She didn't even stir at his uneven movements and he _almost_ laughed, realising just how dead to the world she really was. He walked as slowly as he could through the roadhouse, opening the guest room door with a gentle nod of his head, before setting her down on the covers. Betel flicked his wrist and they tucked themselves around her; there was no way he was doing it himself. Carrying the slip of a woman around had already been a mushy enough act to make his skin crawl.

It was pathetic, really. He needed to sort himself out. Maybe go and start throwing punches around town; get the adrenaline flowing again lest he turned into some kind of cowardly, homely type.

The ghost made moves to hastily exit the room but a book on top of the drawers caught his gaze before he could slip away. It was plain black - like everything Lydia owned - but had a small handwritten title written along the spine. _New York, 1984 - 1986._

He wasn't sure exactly what it was that had piqued his interest but he picked it up nonetheless, finally exiting the guest room and clicking the door shut behind him. This was clearly a personal album of sorts and no way was Betelgeuse going to turn down the opportunity to do some snooping. Hell, anything to take his mind off of his crazy thoughts.

He flopped down onto the couch, a cloud of dust flying up from the movement, and flicked it open, grinning as he saw it was actually a photo album full of photos she'd taken herself. Even the blurry pictures and the ones where she'd accidentally had her finger over the lens had been included.

They were all rather dark and morbid despite the fact she'd taken them at a much younger age judging by the dates on the spine. They were still incredible though; the girl had a good eye and a knack for finding things the average kid wouldn't have bothered to pay attention to. As he flicked through, he got the sense he was seeing New York through the eyes of someone who really _lived_ there. It made him miss the big city a little. New York had been one of the main placed he'd hung around when he first earned the ability to free roam the living world. 

He settled further into the couch, juicing up a smoke and sticking it between his lips as he flipped the pages. He honestly hadn't done much exploring up top since he'd gained his newfound freedom; he'd been far too busy trying to build his reputation back up in the neitherworld. 

He reached the end of the photo book fairly quickly only because it seemed to be incomplete... cut off at the same time Lydia's life had started to fall apart perhaps. The ghost made a mental note to consider New York as the first place he'd really go and kick back in when the opportunity presented itself. Hey, maybe he could even bring Lydia if she trusted him enough by then. He doubted she'd turn down the chance to swim around in nostalgia and maybe she could finally finish the album.

He relaxed slowly, placing the closed photo album gently on the coffee table before him whilst still puffing away with dead lungs on a pointless cigarette. _If she trusted him enough by then_. She would. Betelgeuse was no stranger to being patient. It was only a matter of time until he could _really_ start enjoying his afterlife. He'd waited before and he could wait again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if that felt a little clunky. I'm not very happy with it but... writer's block, _ya know I hate it_. Quarantine really goes ahead and kills any motivation you'd usually have, huh :,)


	13. unorthodox angles and zany colors

Lydia woke up feeling gross. It was that kind of clammy grossness that manifested after a night out or after you'd forgotten to go through the usual features of a pre-bedtime routine such as brushing your teeth. It was like she had jet lag and it took a long moment for her to catch her bearings as she blinked away the sticky sleep from her heavy eyes.

She peered around the room, slightly confused since she didn't remember taking herself there the night before. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember anything past watching the movie... and Betel's weird, unnerving reaction to her self depreciation. It'd been strange and she'd spent the rest of the night in a bit of a daze, filtering out the sounds of the movie as the mulled over what he'd said. 

He'd complimented her - albeit aggressively - without there being any of his usual stupid, uncomfortable sleaze behind it. Whilst it was making her scratch at her head in confusion, she couldn't deny the smile that found its way on her face. Nobody but Betelgeuse and occasionally the Maitlands had ever really given her the time of day when she'd begun to put herself down before. Now, what did _that_ say about the people she'd surrounded herself with topside.

It was a little unnerving to think that she'd let her guard down around the ghoul so easily by falling asleep but, in all fairness, she had been out cold and helpless with illness for almost a week before and he hadn't done anything _then_. Besides looking after her, of course. She was past the point of stressing about whether or not he'd try doing something awful to her when she wasn't awake to protect herself.

Lydia smiled gently, feeling ever so slightly warm as she was reminded of his unusual hospitality and the fact she'd likely ended up in the guest room because he'd _carried_ or _juiced_ her there... and then she proceeded to dropkick that traitorous, fuzzy feeling, her face falling into a grimace. He was showing her more genuine care than her own damn family ever had. Hell, it was on par with how the Maitlands would've treated her and that was jarring considering this was _Betelgeuse_ they were talking about. She shook her head out, trying to right her crooked thoughts. She was being an idiot. 

Lydia stood up slowly, stretching out like a well-rested cat, before glancing around the room. It hadn't properly hit her yet that there was a good chance she'd be staying there _forever_. She'd been taking it one day at a time thus far, treating it like it was boarding school or a holiday. The naive little child in her mind was still waiting for the day that the ghost told her it was time to go home and return her to reality. 

She'd be lying if she said that thought didn't dampen her spirits a tad. 

Of course, she missed her family - namely the Maitlands - like all hell but the neitherworld was a wonder in itself. Like a second home of sorts. A place she didn't feel judged... It was no surprise her only real friends were the dead. 

Lydia slipped the closest pair of shoes she could find on - a pair of black wulfrun creepers - and wandered off towards the bathroom. She fought over whether or not she had the energy to take a shower and settled on going without for another day, instead just brushing her teeth and hair thoroughly to rid herself of the remnants of that sticky, weary sensation that had followed her around since she'd woken up.

Once somewhat presentable, she went off to find Betel. The process of actively having to seek him out every time she wished to eat was tiring to her a week ago but now it was just routine. The company was appreciated, after all. Even if his company was distasteful to anyone with a working sense of smell. 

She wandered into the main area and jumped slightly when he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, investigating the noise of her clunky shoes echoing out over the rotting wood. His eyes brightened a little when he realized it wasn't Jacque or ginger and he threw back the last of the salted crickets he'd been snacking on, giving her his full attention. 

"The usual, _honey?_ " he asked with a scratchy grin, juicing up a waiters outfit with a silver platter balanced in his grubby left hand.

" _God_ , don't call me honey. That's what dad calls Delia," Lydia muttered with a smile aimed at his stupid getup, flopping lightly down onto the couch. "But yes. The usual." 

A fresh plate of food appeared on the coffee table before her and she felt the furniture dip as the ghost set himself down, sniffing at scratching at a patch of moss on his neck. She pulled the plate of waffles - the very same type she'd requested on the first morning in his world - onto her lap and tucked her legs in the way a small child sat on the floor would. The television flickered onto a scummy neitherworldian show and she phased the sound of it out as she ate her food.

The ghost beside her wasn't paying complete attention to it either, rather frowning at her as it clicked in his head that she was still wearing the same long black, ankle-length skirt and dark purple shirt that she had been when she'd fallen asleep the night before... Actually, now he thought about it... 

"I coulda swore ya been wearin' that exact thing for the last three days," Betel sniffed, picking at a weathering thread on his suit. "Ya wearing the same outfit 'cause ya don't got anything else or do you just dig the one-trick pony look?"

She paused, swallowing her food slowly before turning to narrow his eyes at his hypocrisy. "You're one to speak. I'm pretty sure I've only ever seen you consistently in the same three outfits, bugbreath."

"Yeah but I'm _dead_ babes. Dead, dead, deadski. It ain't the same. Plus, these duds work for me. There a reason I'm such a catch."

"Oh, so you're saying this _doesn't_ work for me? How charming," she muttered, turning her nose up in faux offence as she took another forkful of the summoned food into her mouth to hide her smile.

Betelgeuse frowned, furrowing his brows as he realized he'd fucked up. "Wait, that's not-" he frowned further when she started to laugh, giving away the fact she was messing with him and wasn't _really_ offended. "Ya little shit..." She just shot him a surprisingly warm smile as she finished her food, placing the plate politely on the coffee table before Betelgeuse dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

He cleared his throat, not too comfortable with the lump that had been forming there as he glanced over at the girl. He had actually had a point to make originally but she'd gone and thrown him off. "I can uh... I know a place ya can get some more stuff to wear if ya actually do need more clothes," he said through gritted teeth, his brows sinking lower when Lydia's face morphed into surprise.

She'd put a lot more energy into packing sentimental things like her camera and photo album when she'd been preparing and had forgotten that she'd need a substantial amount of clothing. She'd been hesitant to ask him and so him offering to do something for her unprompted was surprisingly generous for him. Suspiciously so. "Can't you just juice clothes up?"

"Well, I mean I _can_ ," he drawled with a grin. "But hey, last time I did that ya didn't take it too well. Plus, I figured you'd wanna pick for yerself, huh? For ya _gothy look_ or whatever?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes as flushed a little at the memory of the stupid fucking dress he'd put her in for the second wedding. "What's in it for you?" she asked, figuring he'd usually jump at the chance to put her in _more_ stuff like that, the bastard.

He raised his hands on either side of his head in mock surrender. "Hey, who said there had to be an _angle_? Just wanna do somethin' nice ya know. Outta the goodness of my cold, dead heart."

"The more you say stuff like that, the less genuine it sounds, you know."

"Ya wanna go shopping or not?"

She sighed, relaxing into the cushions as she tilted her head at him. "Fine. But I genuinely get to- to pick what I want?" She knew what he was like. He smirked, knowing full well what she was thinking of him. Hell, he couldn't blame her.

"Sure, sure, 'course ya can. No input from the B-man on this one."

He offered her a lazy palm, resting it on the empty couch space between them and Lydia rolled her eyes, sensing that that was the end of their discussion. She took a deep breath to prepare herself for the jarring journey and then the second she gave him her hand, they were gone.

***

"Holy _shit_ ," Lydia breathed.

They'd landed just outside of what looked like a regular mall in terms of structure but more like an acid-trip nightmare when it came to the paint job. Just like a lot of the other constructions in the neitherworld, the mall was comprised of awkward, unorthodox angles and zany colors. Lydia never had been one for color - that was no secret- but she'd be a liar if she said the place wasn't enticing.

Whilst it wasn't exactly gothic, it was certainly spooky and that was enough. Lydia's juvenile curiosity got the better of her almost immediately and she began to half-run off, excited to see if the place was as cool inside as it was outside. Before she could get even a metre, she felt herself getting tugged backwards by the fabric of her shirt.

"Hold on," Betel grumbled as he pulled her back to his side, his eyes narrowing as he scanned their surroundings. There was a _lot_ of people around. Certainly more than he was comfortable with - he never remembered the mall being so busy before but he supposed he'd been away for a long time.

"What?" Lydia asked, wriggling away from his hand not out of irritation but rather just as a knee-jerk reaction. 

"Don't run off. This place is busier than usual and you do _not_ wanna get lost here, I'm tellin' ya. Plus, I'm the one with the money, remember?" He grinned, flashing a stack of the strange colored bills that'd appeared in his palm. Lydia relaxed her shoulders and nodded in understanding, reigning herself in, before following Betel at a steady pace.

The inside of the shocking mall was far more impressive than it's exterior. The open halls inside reminded her vaguely of the corridors leading away from the waiting room thanks to the jerky angles and faint glow, only the glow here wasn't dark blue but rather a mix of bright oranges, pinks and yellows. There were too many storefronts to take in at once, each boasting their own wacky, unique products. There were clothes stores centred around different eras ranging from ancient Egyptian times all the way up to the modern world.

As well as dated clothing stores, there were also shops selling enchanted jewellery, otherworldly flowers, spooky toys, and neitherworld specific items like a salon specializing in werewolf haircuts and talon filings sitting beside a clinic that did bandage rewrappings for mummies. As amazing as all of this was, Lydia's eyes had zoned in on one specific storefront and Betelgeuse didn't have a hard time spotting it either. The only thing Lydia could think to compare said store to was the dark, family-run alternative clothes stores Lydia used to spend her life in when she'd lived back in New York, only far bigger and with what looked like genuine cobwebs adorning the sign on the outside which read " _The Cavern_ ".

The ghost was content to let her run off then, floating lazily a few feet behind her as she ducked through the low doors. He thanked the heavens that he'd gotten stuck with Lydia and not some other bottle-blonde, more stereotypical teenager. If he'd been forced to go into any of the more... delicately feminine stores he probably would've exorcised himself then and there.

He ducked under the low door himself, swatting away the cobwebs that had clung to his suit, and found Lydia already running her hands through the skirt of a long, lacey black garment. "It's so light," she said with a wide grin, eyes alight. "And soft, too."

"It's my very own silk. Spun each one myself," came a high pitched, wheezy voice from somewhere within the dark, cavey store. An arachnid about the same size as Ginger scuttled into view, smiling broadly up at the girl who was so interested in his work. The smile faltered when he caught sight of the poltergeist but Betelgeuse was already wandering off to the other side of the store and so the man felt somewhat at ease.

Lydia peered down at the spider in wonder. He was a dull grey-brown and the only way she could think of to describe his gentlemanly, fantastical aesthetic was 'gothic steampunk'. She was especially fond of the charming little tophat he had on. "It's really beautiful," she said politely, daring to pull it off of the hanger and hold it delicately up against herself, checking the length. 

"That's nice, babes, but 'm liking _this_ a whole lot more," came Betel's voice from behind her. She could hear him smiling and when she turned around she was unsurprised to find that he'd located the skimpier variety of clothing in the store. She narrowed her eyes. "Good thing I'm choosing what I want and not you, Beej." 

There was no malice behind her voice. How could there be; even the thing he was holding up was beautiful; not tacky in the slightest. God, she wished there'd been similar stores back in Winter River. 

After a mere ten minutes of sifting through clothing with the helpful advice of the storeowner, Lydia was holding an armful of clothes. There were two very simple, casual cotton skater dresses with mesh fabric stretching across the shoulders save for a pentagram shape across the chests. Another dress she'd picked up was long and brushed her ankles but was cinched at the waist to provide shape and so it looked more like a separate skirt-jumper combo than a single dress. Thankfully, the spider didn't just specialize in dresses and she'd also found a couple of oversized jumpers as well as a comfortable pair of boots. 

Betel's short attention span had gotten the better of him and he'd wandered off again so Lydia took the opportunity to snatch a couple of the intricately woven lingerie sets off the hangers, hiding them in between the other clothes, before calling him back so he could pay. Hey, there was no way she could leave them behind. She'd take every single thing in the store if she could... knowing Betelgeuse he'd probably let her. 

Lydia was a polite girl by nature and so ordinarily she'd feel guilty at the idea of someone paying for her but her ghost had offered the trip willingly and also it wasn't _actually_ his money so she said nothing as he plopped an alarming amount of cash onto the counter. She was surprised he was actually bothering to pay the correct amount. Although, she was certain that even if he didn't the kindly arachnid wouldn't dare call him out on it.

She left the store feeling overwhelmingly happy for probably the first time in weeks. Hell, she didn't even care Betel dropped his deadweight arm across her shoulders. Sure, she'd been stolen from her home and her whole mortal life had been uprooted but at least she'd gotten some pretty clothes, right? It was the little things in life.

She was broken out of her cheerful thoughts when the ghost beside shook her and nodded over at a colorful parlour. "Ya wanna get some eyescream, babes?"

"Icecream?" She perked up. She hadn't had icecream in a while; Winter River only ever seemed to sell it at the height of summer.

"Nah. Not icecream, _eye scream_. Trust me, you'll dig it."

"Is everything down here all spooky-themed?" she asked with a raised brow and childish grin as he led her over to the stall without even waiting for her consent on the matter. 

"It's Halloween every day here, babe."

She'd already gathered than and hell, she wasn't complaining. She was happiest when the creepy decorations and whispers of ghost stories hung about the world in the days leading up to Halloween. It was like that every day in the land of the dead and she couldn't deny that eyescream sounded cool.

Betel walked up to the counter like he owned the place - although that seemed to be his default mood - and ringed the little bell on it an excessive number of times. There was a pale blue woman stood in the window, seemingly in the middle of writing something down and she jumped at the noise and scowled, "what can I get for yo-" 

She hadn't been facing them when she'd begun to ask her biting question but once she finally looked up at her customers, her voice caught in her throat and she had to clear it before swallowing stiffly. "Sorry. What can I get for you?"

Betel grinned at her shaky tone and sniffed, peering down into the display. He was enjoying scaring the shit out of people merely with his presence (it did wonderful things for his ego) and Lydia's good mood had only bumped up his own to the point it was excessive. "Ah, well I dunno, that's tough. Choices, choices... Check it out, babes, whaddaya say?" he asked, obnoxiously pulling her up next to him so she could look at the selection. 

Lydia frowned, cocking her head at the strange-looking buckets of desert. "What one's least likely to kill me?" she asked, pointedly turning her nose up at the goopy green one and silently considering a flavor that appeared to be plain vanilla. Though, nothing was ever as it appeared in the neitherworld. The ghost snorted at her question and looked back up at the waitress. "She'll have one- no, _two_ scoops of the cornea crunch - no bone - and I'll take three scoops of the..." he paused, glancing back down before shrugging. "Camp crystal flake?"

"Camp crystal flake?" Lydia laughed, squinting as she tried to read the horror-themed names of the other flavors. "Nice." Once Betel had thrown a couple of notes at the woman, he dragged her off to the seating area, slumping down into one of the chairs and kicking his feet up on another. Lydia placed herself neatly down on her own, content to just watch people stroll by as she waited. She'd always loved people watching - imagining what the lives of each passerby could look like - and it was far more interesting in the neitherworld especially when people's deaths were displayed so openly on their physical form. 

... This could be much worse right? Her situation? It wasn't _all_ bad. And god, she had no _school_ , no more _bullies_ , no more _pressure_ to succeed on her. The only bad part of the deal was Betelgeuse and even he wasn't the worst person she'd ever met, Lydia was slowly discovering. 

The waitress came to them eventually and handed them their food, tense in the presence of the notorious ghost. Lydia's looked just like regular chocolate-flavoured ice cream with what she assumed was 'blood' on it, though it just looked like strawberry sauce. "I thought it'd be spookier than this?" She said quietly, shaking the tub and half expecting a monster to jump out of it at her.

Betelgeuse looked up from his own food which was an offputting, pussy yellow colour coated in what appeared to be flakes of bone and crushed bug shells. 

"Well, yer gonna have to dig and see," he said with a sideways wink and grin, gesturing to the plastic spoon Lydia hadn't yet picked up. Oh well, Betel wouldn't let her eat anything that would hurt her. Would he? Lydia picked up the utensil and gave the ice cream a tentative poke, jumping a little when it jerked away from her as if her prodding had caused it pain. "Oh yeah. Forgot it did that," the ghost grunted through a mouthful of his own desert.

"Is it _sentient_? Don't tell me _it_ can _feel_."

"No, no... it definitely cant. It's just food," Betel muttered, though he didn't sound very sure at all. "Don't stress about it, dig in. That cost me three of my _hard-earned_ bucks," he sniffed, earning himself a knowing glare in response to that last addition. 

Lydia eventually got past her reluctance and began to dig in; a process which was hard considering the food was doing all it could to avoid her. Whenever she did manage to catch a spoonful, she was rewarded with the overwhelmingly delicious taste of rich, pure chocolate. God damn, it was a relief they didn't have stuff like that in her world. She'd never stop eating it if they did. Betel himself was chomping away rather noisily on bugs, appearing to be having the time of his afterlife. Lydia might've even found his harmless contentedness endearing if it hadn't been crushed bone he was throwing back.

Once they'd finished - and disposed of their trash at Lydia's insistence - they made their way back towards the entrance of the mall. The pair were lazily chatting whilst both pointedly ignoring the wary and confused looks of the surrounding dead. Lydia's eyes were still excitedly scanning each storefront as they talked and Betel's remained unfocused as they often were.

That was until one of the advertisement boards caught his attention and he paused, squinting over at it before juicing one of the largest posters into his claws. Lydia watched him curiously, jumping when the paper appeared in his grip with a loud flap. "What is that?" she asked, standing up on the tips of her toes in an attempt to catch a look. Betelgeuse seemed to have a general disinterest in everything except her, apparently, so she was curious as to see what had him so intrigued.

Lydias curiosity only doubled when his face slowly started to light up as he read the advertisement and Lydia could almost see the light-bulb turning on above his head.

"There's a royal family down here, y'know," he said suddenly after a long moment of silence, finally looking up from the poster. "A monarchy an' all that. As if having a government down here wasn't already bad enough."

Lydia's eyes immediately widened and she perked up, images of a grand castle and noble people in rich, medieval clothing flashing through her mind. " _What? Really?!_ How does that work?" she breathed, gripping onto his striped arm as she tried to steal another peek at the poster.

"Ah, I dunno, really. It's all about _purity_ and shit. They have a castle and servants and all that jazz. They're all white European dudes, too. Hasn't been a queen or princess since I died and you already know I've been dead for a long ass time."

She cocked her head at that. _All men_? "How is the throne inherited, then? It's obviously not through royals having kids since... everyone's _dead_ , right? Unless I'm being stupid and missing something..."

He chuckled at her hyper questioning and shook his head reassuringly. "It's all about bloodlines. I dunno how exactly they find out but when someone of the bloodline dies they go straight to the castle and get filled in on the fact they were born _pure_ or some rat shit like that. It's practically a prison in there, babes, I'm tellin' ya. I _almost_ feel bad for some of 'em sometimes."

"I guess that makes sense..." she said, dropping her shoulders. "But what's the point of them? What do they do?"

" _Nothing_. Absolutely nothin'. If a ribbon somewhere needs snipping they'll do it and occasionally they help pass some new laws but otherwise all they do is mope around and throw stupid parties... which brings me to this."

Betelgeuse finally turned the poster around and held it out so Lydia could see what it was advertising. It boasted a few medieval-style hand-drawn images of people in ball gowns, a signature from the 'neitherworld court order' and finally a date at the bottom in big, block letters. 

An advertisement for an event.

"Wanna go crash a royal ball, babes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if there’s any mistakes! I edited this pretty late at night so I might’ve missed some stuff


	14. piece o’ cake

"So. How exactly do you plan on doing this, _ghost with the most_?"

Two days had passed since Betelgeuse had found the flier and it was the morning of the event. Lydia was glad that they'd found the advertisement so close to the date of the celebration since she wasn't sure she would've been able to put up with Betelgeuse's excitement for any more than two days; it was borderline obsessive. Even at that very moment he was flitting around like a man on drugs, getting everything he needed to successfully sneak into a royal palace together.

The ghost momentarily ceased his frantic preparations at the sound of her voice and narrowed his eyes spiritedly in her direction. "I ain't liking the sceptical tone in yer voice, wife o mine," he said, raising a brow. Lydia went to raise her own back at him but he'd already disappeared and then reappeared before her unexpectedly, grinning assuredly, and the girl jumped in surprise. "Believe it or not, I actually know what I'm doing."

"What you're gonna do is _kill me_ if you keep that up," she muttered under her breath, rubbing at the area of her chest where her heart was pounding away uncomfortably thanks to his jumpscare. Living with a couple of friendly house ghosts was one thing. Living with a worked up, overly enthusiastic poltergeist was another; and it was doing a number on her cardiovascular system.

Betelgeuse stood up straight, sensing that he needed to rein himself in a little, and decided to circle back to her original question of how exactly he planned on getting them inside the palace.

"They essentially let in anyone who's _high class_ enough," he started, air quoting the words high class as if they were dirty. "It ain't as exclusive as it should be but I s'pose it never mattered since they're _dead_ and they ain't exactly under threat of royal assassination..."

"And that's all fine because _clearly_ we're both such high-class citizens." Lydia chipped in sarcastically. "This'll be a piece of cake."

" _Hey_ , I know yer joking but in terms of power, I'm higher class than most o' the fucks who'll be shuffling through those gates," Betelgeuse sniffed, rocking back onto his heels. "And that's all that matters down here. Power. I just gotta prove to them that I'm powerful and then boom; we're in. Piece o' cake, indeed."

Lydia sat up a little straighter, cocking her head. "You don't think that they might be put off by the fact that... well, the fact that you're _you_? You seem to have a bit of a reputation down here..."

Betelgeuse merely grinned proudly and shrugged his shoulders. "Who said _I'm_ gonna be going in?"

Lydia immediately frowned; the thought that he might dare to make her go in alone to carry out his mischief for him caused a wave of anxiety to flood through her. Her words caught in her throat, however, when Betelgeuse's skin started to stretch and morph and she realized what he'd meant.

In a matter of seconds, a whole new person was standing before Lydia. The stranger before her was shorter than Betelgeuse and looked to have been potentially rather handsome were it not for the horrible burn wounds obscuring the majority of the face. It was a believable enough disguise - if not a little overboard with the scarring - and Lydia couldn't help but widen her eyes, impressed.

"Clever..." Lydia breathed softly, giving him a once over before frowning slightly. "But are you sure it'll work? What if the guards have... like, a sixth sense and will be able to tell it's actually you or something like that?"

"I _just can't please ya,_ can I?" Betelgeuse snapped without any real irritation behind his words, making Lydia jump yet again. The disguise dropped away as fast as it had come and then he - the real him - was leaning over her, hands planted either side of her on the couch. " _Stop stressing_. This ain't a movie, it's real life. They don' have a sixth sense; the folks there are dumb as a sack of rocks. Hell, _I'd know_ , I've messed with royal guards plenty o' times. This is just meant to be a bit of fun, babes, _come on_ ; don't make me have to leave ya here."

Lydia managed a smile at that, shaking her head before relaxing once Betelgeuse had retreated from her personal space. "I _know_ , I know. Sorry. _God_ , I probably sound like Delia," Lydia muttered, faltering slightly as she reminded herself of her stepmother and subsequently her home back in Winter River. _I wonder how long its been on the other side_. Lydia grimaced and shook those thoughts away, looking back up at the ghost. "I've always been a 'worrier'. At least that's how my dad put it." She smiled softly and shrugged. "You have my faith, I _guess_."

He looked triumphant at that, clapping his hands together in a conclusive manner. "Peachy. Now we just gotta _dress_ the part."

"Well, I didn't really get anything ball worthy at that mall," Lydia started, fingering the fabric of her new clothing fondly. "I'm assuming you wanna juice something up?"

"Ah, ya gotta look _good_ for a ball, babe. And hey, hey, whilst ya'd look fuckin' amazing in anything, my powers don't quite cut it in the clothes department. I ain't got the imagination or knowledge of the _high class female fashion industry_ for all that rat shit," he sneered. The ghost paused and held out a hand for her to take. She eyed it warily, since such a gesture usually meant he was preparing to juice them somewhere, but took it regardless and sighed in relief when he merely pulled her to her feet. "Luckily ya live with a spinster. A good one too. I asked her to fix ya somethin’ up, she should be comin' any time soo-"

"-is that _praise_ I hear, Betelgeuse?" Lydia lit up when Ginger came scuttling through the doorway, a smile on her tiny face. "Coming from you, no less? Never thought I'd make it to see the day."

Betelgeuse narrowed his eyes in her direction, letting Lydia pull free of his grip and run over to the arachnid. "Ya didn't hear shit, Ging..." he cocked his head as Lydia bent down, extending an arm for the spider to climb up onto. "Go on. Go get her dolled up. She's gotta _blend in_ remember."

And just like that, Lydia was directed away towards the other section of the roadhouse. She felt glad to be in the company of Ginger for a change yet she'd be lying if she said it was because she disliked Betelgeuse. Who was she kidding, she'd been enjoying herself more than she ever had recently. Sue her! He was... good fun most of the time - even when he was making certain comments or telling certain jokes. She was long past the point of feeling uncomfortable or disturbed by his nature. It wasn't surprising; she'd always been drawn to the creepier side of things. 

Still, it was nice to spend some time with the spider. She hadn't seen Jacques for a while but the skeleton was rather overbearing with his eagerness to talk to her so she wasn't too upset by it. She'd already had to put up with Betel's over-enthusiasm for the past couple of days so the calmer her company the better.

Lydia was directed past the point she was familiar with in the roadhouse and instead continued down a corridor until she came upon a door that was very clearly Ginger's thanks to the large pink plaque on the front with her name carved in. She opened it slowly and the arachnid hopped into business, immediately settling herself on top of a stool in the centre of her room... her very, _very_ brightly colored room.

Lydia wasn't the type to comment or make any snarky remarks; she instead just wandered in slowly, looking around with a faint smile as she admired Ginger's... confidence in her design choices. Besides the bright choice of aesthetic, the room was mainly bare. The ceiling was high with painted beams stretching across and various cobweb structures nestled in each corner.

On the floor level there were a couple of large wardrobes, draws full of all sorts of sewing tools and a chest of fabrics that the spider had already thrown open. Lydia wandered into the middle of the room and stood there patiently whilst the arachnid got everything she needed together. 

"Betel told me what you were doing," Ginger said conversationally as she dragged her supplies across the room and over to Lydia. "Now, I don't _condone_ his brand of misbehaviour which is why I ain't helping him out but I know you've got a good little heart and will behave yaself so I'm willing to do you this favor, honey. Plus, It's been a while since I've had such a unique model to work with."

And work with her, she did. All Lydia could hope to do was try and stay upright as Ginger pulled her this way and that way, taking measurements, pinning her hair up out of the way and finally respectfully undressing her. To Lydia's surprise - and thinly concealed awe - the spider began working right from her skin using her very own silk. It layered up impressively fast and the odd fabric felt identical to that of the clothing she'd bought at the mall.

Once the skeleton of the dress was done, Ginger began pinning and sewing on the extra fabric to add some color to the whole ensemble. The skirt was a mixture of red and black tulle set on top of one another to create a wonderful, cloudy effect and it fell to just past her feet - but not impractically so. In contrast to the flowing skirt, the black bodice was corset style with red lacing yet still comfortable and the sleeves attached to it were similar to the skirt in both length and color.

Lydia was thankful for the coverage the dress gave her; Ginger seemed to have paid homage to the fact that the girl was still young and made an effort to preserve her modesty. An extra level of respect that Betelgeuse would likely not have paid her if he'd been in charge of wardrobe.

Speaking of the devil. 

The door opened the second Ginger stepped back - as if he'd been watching and waiting for them to finish - and Lydia's eyebrows shot up at the sight of him. She'd fully expected him to stroll through in his usual dusty stripes but that was not the case. It seemed he'd made an effort too. 

The ghost was wearing a suit similar to that of the wedding one but it was _far_ cleaner, better fitted and certainly less tacky. He looked... well, he looked good. Maybe even handsome if Lydia was feeling particularly generous. Sure, he still had a gut and there was no less moss clinging to his skin than usual but Lydia never had been one to care much about ideal body types. Such trivial things were beneath her. 

Still, it was strange seeing him tidied up. She supposed he needed to look convincing. Hell, he was certainly convincing her and she knew his true nature all too well. Perhaps this really would be a piece of cake. 

Lydia wasn't the only one surprised at the sight of her counterpart, apparently. Betelgeuse himself stopped in his tracks the second the door was opened, his dark eyes widening a fraction before travelling up and down the length of Lydia slowly as if she were a particularly inviting piece of food as opposed to a person. Lydia felt her cheeks warming up and she was glad when he finally broke the silence, a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face.

" _Goddamn_ , ya did a good job, Ging. And I mean it."

The arachnid, blissfully oblivious of the stifling tension in the room, smiled proudly and took another couple of steps back to admire her work. "I think I did, too... but _gosh_ , Betel, I think that might just be the first genuine compliment you've ever given anyone."

He smiled wider at that but his eyes still hadn't left Lydia. "Yeah, well, maybe there wasn't anythin' worth complimenting around here before."

The muttered comment sounded like an insult aimed at Ginger but Lydia caught his meaning and ducked her head lower, furrowing her brows. She didn't exactly feel _uncomfortable_ , just rather embarrassed. 

Lydia had always been a very fashion-conscious person, despite what Delia would've said, yet her style wasn't exactly extravagant... and the dress Ginger had meticulously crafted for her was the very _definition_ of extravagant. Extravagant enough to draw peoples attention. Specifically _Betelgeuse's_ brand of attention, no less.

"So, uh... what's the deal from here? You juice us there, we slip in and you do your thing?" Lydia mumbled, breaking the weird silence and looking back up from where her eyes had dropped to the floor. 

The ghost seemed to snap out of his own head and he nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah, somethin' like that. But, uh, first I gotta..."

He trailed off as his skin once again melted away and was substituted by the burn victim disguise. Lydia was a little disappointed as the ghost with the most was replaced by the stranger but why exactly that was she couldn't put her finger on.

"Perfect," he grinned, looking down at his scarred hands as he flexed them experimentally. "Now... c'mere," he said, looking back up and twitching his fingers in a beckoning motion. 

Lydia obeyed without thought, taking the first few steps in her dress and smiling gently at how light it felt on her. Betelgeuse's palm was outstretched and she took it gently, gasping when a slightly painful, cold feeling shot up her arm the second she made contact. 

"What're you doing," she hissed quickly, tensing up as the chill continued to spread across her chest and down over the rest of her. 

"Makin' you feel dead. If yer warm someone'll realise what ya are. The dead are particularly... ah, _sensitive_ to human warmth if ya hadn't noticed already," he muttered, chewing on his scarred lip as Lydia shivered her way through the transformation. It was uncomfortable for a second but she soon acclimated to the feeling and, once she did, it felt comfortably cool rather than outright cold. 

"Now I'll just feel lifeless to everyone else?" She asked quietly, extending her fingers and examining her hand as if there'd be a physical difference to accompany the unfamiliar sensation.

"Yup. They won't be able to tell the difference which means we are all set," Betelgeuse said with thinly concealed excitement, rubbing his disfigured palms together before holding his arm out towards the girl just like he had on their first, less consensual wedding night. " _Shall we?_ "

"You're funny," Lydia said dryly, shooting him a disapproving look as she placed her hand on his arm. When he didn't immediately teleport them out of the space, she took the opportunity to turn back to Ginger and smiled warmly. "Thanks for this, Ginger. I really appreciate it. The dress is-"

But before Lydia could hope to finish her sentence, they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, funny story; this wasn’t even going to exist until I went to publish what will now be the next chapter and decided that the jump between the chapters was a little too wide. So I wrote this pretty quickly on the spot and it is the _definition_ of a filler chapter ;u; apologies if it’s a little rough, it’s pretty much an edited first draft 
> 
> The next chapter is _super_ long and a lot happens so I’m excited to get that re-edited and posted o.o


End file.
